 
THE CHAOS VIRUS

By

Travis Barr

The Chaos Virus

Copyright © 2016 by Travis Barr

Chapter 1

_Please, God, let me be there for him! Let me make it in time!_ Paul pleaded in his frenzied mind as he raced his squad car across the busied town.

Detective Paul Danford knew the Landry family well having investigated their case and followed the court trial. Terrance Landry and his faithful wife, Sarah, were members of First Final Witnesses Church, a faith preaching the simplicity and natural order of things—no modern inventions allowed. No one drove cars, no one rode bikes, everyone in the congregation lived in tents and off the land. No radio, no TV, no phones, no computers.

And certainly no modern medicines created by modern technologies in modern facilities for sickening profit.

It was this last rule that concerned the state of New York's lawmakers the most—particularly in the case of Terry and Sarah, and their severe asthma afflicted son, Joseph.

Fifteen year old Joey had been ill for the past seven months, and becoming more so. His Aunt Nancy grew terrified that her dear, sweet, intelligent Joey-Boy might die soon if something wasn't done about it. Not subscribing to her sister, Sarah's unique spiritual point of view, Nancy wasted no time in contacting both a lawyer and the proper authorities to alert them of Joey's condition.

When Terry discovered what Nancy had done, he was absolutely livid—not only with Nancy but with Sarah, who clearly contacted her sister concerning his son's affliction. And true to his beliefs he punished his wife not with a knife, a hammer, or any other modern device, but with his good old natural but effective fists.

But even his fists couldn't stop the court order and the police from enforcing it. The state had now mandated that Joey be properly treated for his condition. _And_ that the boy be monitored by court appointed social workers to ensure that the medications weren't appropriated by any persons at First Final.

Joseph _was_ improving, responding favorably to the QVAR drug administered to him daily. But this mattered not to Terry, his anger and outrage were quickly becoming inconsolable...and uncontrollable.

Terry went off alone for hours in the forest one day. And fashioned himself a weapon. Taking a fairly sharpened and cragged piece of rock, he broke off a tree branch of small length and girth and began whittling it down. He shaved and carved one end into a finely pointed spike.

When he was finished creating his natural weapon, he hid it in his jacket's inner pocket and went back into camp.

When the social workers came around the next afternoon to check on Joey's progress and administer his next round of meds, Terry politely, smilingly approached the man and woman.

And with speed and furiosity decked the man across the cheek, knocking him out cold.

The woman protested greatly, loudly. But Terrance hit her with powerful and cracking force. She, too, fell down to her loss of consciousness.

Then Terry produced the spike, kneeled down between the two catatonic souls, and brought the spike up over his head with both curled hands. And proceeded to stab both social workers in the chest over their hearts.

Terry then rose quickly, collected his family, and, yes, actually piled them into the social workers' car. The keys were in the ignition—neither worker deemed locking up and taking the keys necessary with this group. And Terry had only been in with First Final for a total of ten years—before that he was a regular society "drone" who worked a day job and drove to it in a car. He certainly knew how to drive.

And he did so now, contradicting his edict but not caring for he knew that he had to escape quickly with his family. Find some place else to begin again, start a new congregation, live _truly_ off the grid this time.

The followers of First Final could only stand there in utter shock while Terry drove his family away. Never mind that he just mortally assaulted two individuals, but he _drove a car—_ an unnatural modern device!

And it was now this car that twelve year veteran officer and detective, Paul Danford was tracking. And hoping. Praying that he could get to the boy in time to administer the meds. And he had a good track on it too, because one of the social workers—the woman's—cell phone was still in the car, in her purse. And its GPS was giving off a strong signal. Now if only the call to the phone service provider was done fast enough to block all calls to the phone. Because if it wasn't and the thing rang...well, that would likely be it—Terry would have the phone thrown out the window. And tracking them would be more problematic.

So far so good—the tracking dot on his car's digital display was still on the move, traversing street routes and making turns here and there. Paul knew the city, and knew he was only a few miles away from meeting up with the car and the family within it.

_Make it on time, Paul, save this kid,_ his brain pressed with force.

He raced on.

The car was running low on fuel. Terry had been driving his car around for the past three hours, attempting to head up north from the starting out point of National Springs. He'd hoped to make it farther but he had no money at all for gas let alone anything else. They had brought food along but that wouldn't last forever—nor would the gas.

In fact, it was on the "E" as he drove around downtown Brighton hoping to at least make it to the coastal beaches. Perhaps that could be his new stomping ground, as it were.

This flashed through his frantic mind as his wife gingerly said, "Terry...this...this is wrong—"

"I know," Terrance responded immediately, emphatically, "I know, look at all this...it's sick, it's _unclean!_ The city...it's not what was intended."

"I mean the car—" she moused out.

But again he cut in with tension, "I know, the car too, it sickens me that I have to resort to it. But I _promise_ you, after this-this _one_ time, we are never setting foot in one of these things _ever_ again." He stared at her for a brief whip of his head, then said, "I love you, Sarah Jean. We're gonna be okay." Then he threw a glance at the rearview mirror and his son in the backseat. "I love you too, boy."

"I don't feel so good, dad. It's hard to breath," Joey almost whispered as he lay in the backseat. His color was pale, listless.

"Don't you worry, the beach air will do you good, you'll see. God will provide if he is willing."

A moment later, the car died and slowed to a stop. Terry managed to steer the thing over to the curb, then he tried starting her up again. Nothing. Another attempt. Still nothing. A third. Nothing.

And so Terry simply lost it, repeatedly slamming his hands down on the now locked-in-place steering wheel. He squealed out a long bellow of frustration from his teeth-clenched mouth. His wife and child said nothing, they were too afraid to. After his frustration tirade ended he sat there breathing heavily, contemplating his next move.

It was at this point and from his sideview mirror that he caught the sight of a familiar sedan approaching. It was roughly a hundred and fifty feet away. He knew that car...and its driver.

Joltingly, he whipped his head about, locked his eyes on the purse on the backseat flooring. He reached back and dove his hand into the bag to yank out the cell phone.

" _No!"_ He threw the thing down and ordered his family out of the car. Joey could barely walk so both parents had to aid him in staying mobile and on his feet.

Their best chance was to escape down an alley up ahead, and to where, they didn't know....

"Yeeaah, you see me, don't you..." Paul said pretty much to himself as he was coming closer to the stolen car. "...And you now see that cell phone, don't you...Not too happy about that, I'm guessing..." Then he witnessed the family exiting the car in a harried manner. "Don't flee, Youuuu idiot..."

And Paul sped up, watching his right so he could get over and rapidly park the car in back of the stolen one. As he did so, he noticed the family disappearing down an alleyway, he turned off the ignition, got out and briskly yet cautiously followed after them. He didn't pull out his .45 piece until he rounded the corner of the alley—he didn't want added attention to this situation. Upon making the alley entrance, Paul hoped to find the family plodding down it. But instead he caught the snip-end of their forms as they made another corner on the left. It was about forty feet down, and Paul glided the careful trot once more toward the gap. This time he hunched himself up on the corner's edging before making the turn. He dipped out his head to look for a split second, making sure he wasn't going to be ambushed. He wasn't, but his look afforded him the glimpse of the family making another turn—this time rightward.

_Damn it, stop turning, you nutcase!_ Paul barked in his mind at Terry. _You're just making this harder for me!_

With his piece cupped in both hands and pointed out in front of him, he shot forth after them.

Terrance kept his family turning, rounding corner after available corner, lefts, rights, lefts, whatever direction came about.

But this was rapidly becoming too much for Joseph to handle, and his knees began to give out. Now it was a question of how far his parents could drag him by his feet until _they_ could not go on any longer.

Up ahead was a tenement structure that was wholly abandoned and hollowed out.

_Perfect_ , thought Terry frantically, _perhaps we can lose the detective in a closet space. Particularly if we're quiet...oh, but the boy is wheezing now...keep going, keep going—the Lord will provide..._

They entered into the ghosted structure and traveled themselves deeper in, trying for a darkened, closet-like space...maybe one with a door still attached....

_Smart bugger_ , Paul ruminated as he coasted his pursuit, _he keeps rounding the corners and I keep having to be extra cautious as a result. Crazy didn't necessarily mean stupid. But I promise you now, Mr. Clever Wackjob, I will find you. And this dose of meds will find its way into your boy's body!_

I think I hear them inside that old apartment structure....

It was there, as he hoped it would be—a closet compartment in one of the abandoned complexes. But the family now faced a new potential obstacle.

There were three vagrants, dirtily clothed and looking haggard, squatting in the room. One woman, two men—one elderly.

Terrance eyed them and whisperingly pleaded, "Hey! Can you help us out?! My psycho brother is trying to kill us, he's coming for us! Please don't tell him we're in here, _please!_ "

The woman said nothing, but the younger of the two men listlessly replied, "All right."

"Thank you," Terrance said with feeling and crouched himself and his family inside the cramped closet space.

But another problem popped up—the door wouldn't close all the way.

And Joseph was wheezing loudly.

Paul entered the tenement and found a general display of dilapidation and neglect. He began briskly checking each room, using the main hallway as a branching point. The first three barren rooms he searched produced nothing but more empty spaces, left alone for too long.

But the fourth turned up the vagrants.

"Any of you see three people go through here?" Paul raptly asked the squatters.

The woman pointed to the roof, though there was no second floor.

Damn nutjob, thought Paul with frustration.

The younger man uttered, "We saw them...a couple hours ago. But we ain't seen 'em since."

Thanks for the hot tip, Paul sarcastically replied in his mind. "Old man?" he asked the elder vagrant, who had a hood shading his cragged and gaunted face.

The aged one remained silent, staring off into nothing, eyes darkened under the hood.

Terrific, a full house. Move along, Paul, quickly, he told his racing mind.

And he did—but then heard something that made him freeze in his tracks.

He heard a boy's violent cough. A bit muffled but distinct enough.

It was coming from inside the room.

Paul whipped about and tracked his eyes to the partially closed door that was warped no doubt from weather exposure. And pointed his .45 straight at it. He very slowly approached the off-kilter door and swung it open.

To find that Terrance snappingly brought up his makeshift spike to his son's throat; his other arm held Joseph close and tight.

His wife clipped an abrupt scream as she fast raced her hands to hide her stretched open mouth.

Paul kept his piece pointed as he tensely tried, " _Terrance_...think hard about what you're doing. This is your son—your _son_ , your _only_ child—"

"That's right," Terry firmly declared, and squeezed his son tighter as he echoed, " _My_ son! _You_ have no say in his governing!"

"The state of New York says otherwise, now come on, Terrance, _look_ at him, _look_ at Joseph. He's in really bad shape here. I have his meds right here with me—and look at your wife, you're scaring the crap out of her."

"She is with me, she supports my— _our_ beliefs, our faith, our decisions."

"Whaddya say there, Sarah? You support his decision to hold a wooden spike up to your loving son's throat?"

Sarah seemed mentally stuck in a desperate quagmire of conflicting desires; between her inherent maternal instinct and her core spiritual beliefs. Her eyes speedily zigzagged.

But she never got a chance to reply as Terry barked loudly, "Don't talk to her! You talk to me! This is man to man, you talk straight to me!"

"All right, let's just stay calm, Terrance, let's just keep talking here, okay? Now-now you can't possibly want to hurt your boy."

"What choice do you leave me? You people won't leave us alone to live as we believe."

"Terry..." Sarah feebly tried.

"Not now, Sarah," he clipped, still eyeing Paul.

But Paul insisted on now, "Sounds to me like she has something important to say."

" _I_ will speak for my family. _I_ am the man."

" _What_ in anyone's sick imagination would a man ever allow his son to die when he could save him?"

"Oh, _we're_ sick, is that it? Look at you with your devices, your technology—and everyone is plugged in..."

While Terry sermoned for his cause, Joey's wheezing became more prominent, strained; his eyes began to bulge.

"...everyone feels from a video transmission! But it's not _real_ , it's not—it's a manufacture, it's a fabrication! It's a mass degeneration of our spirituality...And you think of _me_ as a murderer, some sick psycho—but God...He is real...and what He creates and what He proposes... _that_ is our truth...And if He proposes that it is my boy's time to go then we are prepared to accept that." He glanced briefly at his wife and said, "Right?"

But Sarah's face was shaking, twitching with conflict. Her eyes were red and glazed with tears. Something was ready to burst within her.

" _Right?_ "

From behind Paul, he could hear someone exhaling quite audibly—and prolongingly...

"Right?!"

And suddenly Sarah fearfully, shudderingly _did_ explode: "Oh Terrance, give him the MEDS!!!"

And then Terry's eyes suddenly went slack, as if something primal and instinctively cold took over.

Without hesitation or further delay, Terry fast shifted the spike from his son's throat to violently stab his wife in hers. She immediately began gushing precious blood from the circular wound. Her face turned taut with shock and agony.

Almost instantly, the spike returned back to Joey's throat, the reddened and pointed tip now dimpling his son's skin yet again.

Paul was mentally flummoxed—and horrified. Easily he should have reacted by shooting Terrance in the shoulder, thus disarming him, as he was transitioning the spike from Joey to Sarah. Paul _should_ have been able to save her and the boy.

Yet something had clouded him at that crucial moment, something disorienting and paralyzing. As if the air became confusion itself.

If that made any sense.

But Paul was jolted back to clear and immediately critical thinking, reacting. The mother was sliding down to the floor, choking with spasms and bleeding out despite her hands gripping the spouting wound. And the boy was still in danger, not doing so hot either in the physical health department.

"Look what you made me do, detective," Terry blamed Paul in some cockeyed rationalization for his murderous act. "Look what you brought out—the weakness in my wife... _you_ piece of garbage, you soulless _robot_ of established order..."

"We-we can still save both of them, Terrance!" Paul still tried pleadingly. "We still can...just put down the spike, I won't shoot, I _swear_..."

"...You made me do it, this is on you..." But then an odd look of dissention hit Terry's face, and he began to babble, "...On me—? No...wh..." And in that brief moment of doubt and confusion, he wavered away the spike a few inches from his son's throat.

And Paul took the shot he should have taken seconds before, piercing Terry instantly in the right shoulder. The wounded man was jolted backward and his spike arm swung out wild, dropping the homemade weapon in the process. He hit the back of the wall of the closet and slid down to a folded heap. He grunted painfully as he descended.

Joey fell forth, snipping breaths of desperate and struggled air. Paul holstered his piece and raced to grab the boy before he completely hit the dingy floor. Once in his grasp, he whipped out a syringe full of the liquid form of Joey's med, flicked off the plastic needle guard, and shot the boy up. He plunged in the full dose. Yet Joey, in the next instant, began to shake violently, his eyes rolling up white. Paul could only hope and pray the med would hit the boy's system in time to stabilize him. The tremors continued...and grew more violent...

Paul flashed a look at his watch, it was way past the time that he should've given the shot. Way, _way_ past time.

And suddenly the boy seized up with massive tension, arching himself in a backward bend—as if something vile had holds on his head and legs, and was ready to snap the young man in two.

His breathing ended, he went slack and listless, and sagged wholly in Paul's arms.

"No, no, no, _no!_ " the frenzied detective railed, and laid the limp boy down to instantly begin rapid CPR. He furiously pumped on Joey's chest, trying to shove and bully the boy's heart back to life. The blasts of air Paul administered to the young one's mouth were equally fueled with desperate coercion. For minutes on end the detective manically alternated between the potentially lifesaving activities, grunting, "Come on, come on!" at intermittent points of the attempts.

After seven minutes of trying, Paul still felt no pulse. "Come on, _work_ , dammit!" he urged of his ongoing efforts—and of the medication filtering through the boy's body. Thirteen more minutes and the boy would be braindead, deprived of too much needed oxygen.

Eight minutes. Nothing.

Nine minutes. Nothing.

Ten minutes. Nothing.

Eleven minutes, twelve, thirteen...

"Come OOOOOON!!!"

Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen—

Wait...

Something stirred within the boy, a weak and wanting breath...yet slowly and surely the breaths became stronger, more audible. The boy's chest now began to rise and fall with the pallid but certain inhalations and exhalations of air.

_Thank God!_ Paul relieved in his electrified thoughts. _I did it, he's breathing, he's actually breathing, after almost twenty minutes gone._

Paul took a deep breath himself and let it flow out—but it fluttered for he was worked up from all the frenzied activity he just performed. He had done it...but the boy did not wake, his eyes remained closed and unconsciousness kept him. Good enough for now, Paul accepted in his mind, at least he's breathing.

Now Paul ventured a look at Joey's parents, a couple of ragdolls of gore and paleness. Sarah had expired already, too much of her blood had drained from her neck and soaked her blouse and pants. A mess of it was now pooled beside her, joining in with the puddle of blood from Terrance. _He_ was somehow still conscious—though his flaccid and almost ghost-white face proved that he wouldn't be for much longer.

Weakly, he uttered in almost a whisper, "So...lowly Lucifer...wins...ag..." And Terrance became still. Lifeless.

Paul sat back and expelled another long breath—this time in less of relief and more of regret. Remorse for not having brought everyone into custody safe and sound. Though with this lot of folks, soundness of mind was iffy at best, he had to admit.

He swung about and eyed the vagrants...weren't there three of them? "Where's the old man with the hood?" he asked the two remaining squatters.

"Who?" replied the younger man next to the apparently mute woman. Both looked like they hadn't seen a proper shower in months. "Hey, you just shot that guy in cold blood, man, I saw it."

"The older gentlemen who was sitting beside you," Paul went on, ignoring the accusation, " _Where_ did he go?"

"I don't know, man, who knows what and who—I _do_ know that you just killed somebody, I saw it light as day. He was lowering his wooden thing and you just shot him."

"I had no choice and you know it."

" _Surrrre,_ boss man, surrrre..."

_Terrific_ , thought Paul, _here's hoping these two are either stoned or drunk or both. Dammit, Virg, he secretly cursed his partner of eight years, why did you have to be off on this particular day? I know it's the damned anniversary of your wife and daughter's death, but why today of all days did this have to happen?_

He took out his cellphone and called it in. Afterwards, he told the two behind him to stay put.

The man said in defiance, "Oh, you got it, man, I surely don't wanna get shot."

Paul turned back to the boy. He stared at him with exhausted and tried eyes. But a bit of hope snuck into his gaze—at least _this_ went right. _At least I saved one._

Chapter 2

Today was the last day of the summer vacation for Cecelia and Rodrigo Marquez. Knowing this, the two siblings decided to go on one last blowout excursion to the outskirts of their town.

Rodrigo, or Roddy as most people knew him, being a thirteen-year-old boy wanted to play "War." Whereby he would battle his younger sister of ten—who had to agree to the game, she had pick of play yesterday. That day it was "Tag" but today it was "War." And that was okay; Celia didn't necessarily hate to play the more "macho" activity, but at times felt a little uncomfortable knowing that _real_ wars were being fought, _real_ people were killing and dying just five to ten miles away. Sometimes closer.

But again it was Roddy's pick day, so "War" it would be. And the object of the game, as it normally stood, was to take the hill. Said hill being a small rise and ridge mound of crusted rock and dirt that swelled from the barren ground. Although it was only a ten foot rise, to the children it was the great hill, the mountain of victory. Those who took the hill would plant their flag and stare down on the defeated to "rag" on them repeatedly. "Suck my infected toes, you filthy maggot," or "Eat my sulfur farts, Major Monkey Butt!" the victor would taunt the loser with, among other insults.

And Roddy definitely planned to win because he was itching to try out some new verbal jabs on his dear sweet sister.

"Now Roddy, watch for the snakes," Celia chided in her typical sense of paranoia.

"I will," Roddy said with annoyance. "I always do, you know."

"Just saying."

"So since I got to pick the game today, you can pick which spot to start out on."

"I'll take the south tree."

"Okay, I take the north, of course. And remember, the throws go to our legs _only_."

"I _know._ It was just an accident last time. I didn't mean to throw toward your—"

" _Just_ be extra careful, all right?"

" _All right,_ all right, already—let's get to it."

"Okay, head to your tree, and on three we start."

"Nooo, really?"

"Go, stinky shorts, get to your tree. And I'm going to win the hill and tear you up, girl."

"Thought up some new pathetic insults, did you?" she said derisively as she began running to her tree base a good hundred feet from the hill.

Equally far away—yet branched off in a different direction—stood the other tree base which Roddy ran toward to hide behind.

The object of the game as Roddy and Celia played it was to start off from the trees—both players armed with little rubber balls would attempt to beam the other three times before they reached the hill. But they must keep running while they're aiming and throwing their balls. If, however, one player reaches the hill first while avoiding the three-times hit, the other can try to knock the player off the hill. If you do, you take the hill and win—unless you were already hit three times as mentioned. Then you've lost, the other assumes victory and may insult you for three minutes straight.

"One," both kids said in unison, rubber balls packed in their hands and ready for the throw... "Two... _Three!"_

And they were off, sprinting toward the hill while attempting to aim their first volleys at each other.

Celia threw first—and her aim was deftly true: she banged the ball into his ankle, even though he tried to sidestep. He threw at her trying to target her thigh—but his aim was a centimeter off.

The mad dash continued...and they sized up their next rounds for beaming each other. The throws were made—neither hit. Now they were fifty feet from the hill; it was looking like it might be a race to the top rather than the three-times-out!

One more opportunity for one more hit. Roddy caught her in the foot; but she threw—and nearly got him the second time! Yet he performed an acrobatic leap to strategically miss the hit. Unfortunately, in the process he tripped up his feet and couldn't properly land back down to continue the race. Instead, he fumbled and fell, his hands spreading and reaching out in front of him to prevent his face from eating dirt. What he didn't see in time was a piece of broken glass that meanly gouged into his left palm. "Ah!" he blurted, which clued Celia to the fact that something was wrong. She snapped herself to a halt and turned to face her downed brother.

"Are you okay?" she asked him in concern.

Clutching his wounded and leaking palm, he answered, "I cut my hand, bad."

"Here, lemme see..." And she jogged over to him and knelt down to get a better look. " _Eegh..._ "

The wound was semi-deep and certainly fissuring a generous amount of blood. Some of it had already puddled on the ground before them.

"Try to keep your hand on it," she advised.

"I will but—sssss—it hurts bad when I do..."

"You don't wanna bleed too much though—"

SUDDENLY, the earth began to tremble with growing ferocity, making the two siblings shake to their cores. Cracking sounds thundered in the town beyond them. What they witnessed again rocked them, as houses and buildings began to break apart or implode on themselves. Screams and indistinct hollerings punctuated the barks of structural demolishings. Massive and heartstopping explosions followed as tanks and generators were perforated left and right, to and fro.

"Mama!" Celia screeched out and ran for the chaotic scene.

But Roddy caught her with his good hand and bellowed, "NO! Stay here! If we go down there—!"

But he couldn't finish as the heightening tremors knocked both of them off their feet. They landed on their behinds, then Roddy quick embraced Celia in a tight hold. "Mamaaaa!" Celia howled again.

In the next instant, the ground beneath the faltering townscape split open with pure abandon. People who had been running through the streets attempting refuge were now being swallowed up wholesale.

Another deep pounding explosion occurred, and both children witnessed a few townsfolk slammed high into the air as a result of the blast. One landed right into the new and widened break in the ground. He fell into an endless black below.

More explosions came from within business buildings, bursting windows into projectile shards. Two people were stabbed mortally by the flying pieces.

Further ground divisions opened up and separated men, women, and children from reaching one another. A few attempted to jump the gaps to stay with their loved ones. But the ground kept shaking so intensely that their leaps faltered, and they fell far into the ragged void.

One woman was crushed as a gas prices sign fell directly on her.

An entire building full of trapped people plummeted straight down into the newest and most expansive separation in the earth.

"...Madre de Dios..." Roddy watched in utter dread and awe.

_Now_ the split sections of earth were upending somewhat in horrid diagonals, causing unlucky souls to slide down into the seemingly bottomless chasms. Others were slammed, pinned by cars that careened into them—another result of the ground's new anglings.

Without warning, the hideous cracks began to extend outward past the town's perimeter...toward Celia and Roddy's own spot! Too petrified and far too late to escape, the two watched as the splitting came upon them.

But just as they were about to be engulfed into the merciless separating earth, the split forked on either side of them—and soon tapered into a fine hairline of cracking...then stopped altogether!

Celia and Roddy simply held each other in paralyzing fear.

But soon, Roddy noticed something very odd, that the splitting off of the ground cracks didn't begin exactly at their feet...but at the blood puddle a few inches ahead of the two.

The quakes were dying down and the destruction of the town was mercifully subsiding. Within seconds it ended altogether.

Roddy and Celia slowly disengaged from each other and rose cautiously, lest the whole thing start up again. They faced what remained of their hometown. When the mayhem ceased, there was not a single visible soul left alive in the ruins.

Except one.

"I wanna see if mama is still alive," Celia announced with tense terror in her tone, and started off.

But again, Roddy held her back. " _Wait,_ what if it starts up again?"

"I'll risk it, I have to _see._ " She freed herself of his grasp and began running into town, avoiding the large and extensive cracks as she did so.

He breathed a nervous breath and followed after her.

When they reached the town—the one that they had lived their whole lives in up to this point—the one in total chaotic ruin—they both began to well tears in their eyes. As they glanced all about the massive and collapsed destruction, they quickly realized it was pointless to continue searching for their beloved mother. Their house was a flattened shambles in which none could survive from within. And neither wanted to see their mother in such a horrid state of death. Better to remember her as she was when they left her this morning: smiling and telling them to play but be careful.

Gingerly and arduously, they snaked through the town's pathways and alleys—any way that wasn't mired too much by wreckage, sparking, or raging fires. The dead bodies—some dismembered and/or charred—they couldn't avoid no matter which direction they took. But they knew they would have to traverse the town on the off chance that someone might still be alive.

As they were coming to the outskirts of the other end of town, it became apparent that their search was fruitless.

Until they rounded the corner of a smoldering and savaged restaurant, and saw a lone figure far off beyond the town limits. It appeared to be a man, a tall one but bulky; he wore a dark coat with a hood that shrouded his head. He was walking away from the town, his back to the siblings. He was already about two hundred feet on the outskirts, but the two could tell at this distance that the man was unharmed and calm in his travel.

And something else was quite peculiar, Roddy quietly noticed of the departing figure. Something under the hood...

"Who is that man?" Celia asked in confusion, "He doesn't look like anyone in our town."

"I don't know," Roddy answered with a troubled look.

"Why is he walking away from us?"

"Don't know."

"Well we should go after him—"

" _No!_ "

" _Why?_ "

"Because...look _closely_ at his head..."

"I can't see his head at _all_ , he's wearing a hood—"

" _Look_ at the hood..."

Celia did now—and very keenly, with severe focus...and now noticed the same anomaly of structure that Roddy did a moment earlier.

One side of the head was rounded as a head would be underneath it...but the other side, the left side, was less prominent, draping even, as if the head was horribly misshapen.

"...It's like part of his head's gone..."

"I think he's bad, Celia."

"How can you know that?"

"Because nobody good would just walk away from what has happened here."

Chapter 3

"Can I say that it is just so good to see you guys again?" Mandy announced to her older sisters, Martha and Mary as they met at the airport.

"Oh, it's good to see you too, babe, it's been way too long," Mary agreed and reached in to give her a hug. Mandy heartily returned it.

Martha didn't join in on the hug, and this was not a surprise to the other two. For they well knew that their eldest sister was not into overt public displays of affection. She did, however, place her curled up hand to Mandy's lower shoulder and gave her a pinch. They smiled in unison at each other.

Martha and Mary had _not_ been too long in seeing each other for they were in almost constant contact and proximity to each other. It was only natural, of course, since Martha was Mary's book publicist and manager.

Mary had just published her new children's book in the series she was famous for: _The Peculiar Penguin._ The series had gone international, and Martha and Mary were obliged to run a book tour throughout Europe. Predominantly, it would be a work situation, doing readings for audiences in book shops, as well as signings and Q&A's. But there _would_ be time for sight seeing and enjoying each country's bright spots. So it was decided that Mandy should join them for a reunion of sorts since her schedule had permitted it. Though it would only be for a week, and then she would have to return to the states for her job as a masseuse.

But a week would be enough, Martha and Mary agreed, to catch up with their youngest sibling. And try to convince her to leave that charming yet shiftless bastard she was now living with.

Mandy broke from the embrace and made another proclamation, "Now—dear sisters, I want no talk about our normal lives back home. We should keep this strictly a European affair, agreed?" And she smiled.

"Sure," both older sisters mirrored, though both had other ideas in their eyes and thoughts.

"So we start out in London—and the book event is at three, right?"

"Right," the elder sisters echoed each other again.

"So what's up for tonight, girls? I'm feeling _jazzy_ —" Mandy got out with verve before she was thunderously interrupted by a piercing and rapidly growing sound.

Something huge was descending as it clearly should not. Everyone was distracted and drawn to the sound of it...

...And it quickly came into view to the horror of all watching it through the sectioned windows of the airport station.

An airliner jet plane, angled on its side, was fast approaching the runway, ramping down for a certain and horrific rendezvous with the unyielding concrete below.

Yet even more mind-shocking was that a man fell at a velocity-pushing angle before the massive metallic bird even hit. As he did, there were gasps and shrieks.

And then the plane slammed into the flat expanse of runway an instant later and exploded with a rapid blossom of fire and debris. The flames were brilliant, towering, and terror-inducing. Large shrapnel of the plane's hull smashed through the windows and landed across the way into a group of chairs.

And people—who were either crushed to death or knocked clean by the twisted and smoking wreckages.

Luckily, the three sisters were nowhere near the kill zones.

Not that they weren't severely traumatized by what they had just witnessed. "Oh my _God!!!_ " and paraphrases close to that exclamation kept shrilling from their mouths.

Yet more people were bloodily injured when the windows broke altogether—a result of the shockwave of the blast. One boy caught a shard in his mouth and cut his tongue. Three people were blinded from little bits of glass showering hard into their eyes.

Security and staff sprung into action to aid those who were still alive but wounded. Many of those who escaped injury also stepped up to assist. The place was pandemonium, though some of the people remained still in total shock of what they just experienced.

The sisters were initially part of this group—but not for long.

Martha directed curtly, "Mary, Mandy—go over to those wreckage pieces over there! See if you can help anyone who might be pinned or hurt! I'm going over to the window side!

"Okay!" both younger sisters replied and rushed over to that section.

Martha started briskly over for the window section when—

THOOMMM!

The remaining engines of the plane exploded in another eruption of yellow-orange fury. Fortunately, no more massive projectiles of shrapnel entered the terminal. But people were rocked and halted in their tracks.

But after the blast subsided, the sisters were back to their rushing bids to help others.

Chapter 4

"There's some strange stuff going on lately, Avery," reported the concerned PR consultant.

New York City Coucilman, Avery Chen had been reading over his speech for the coming public address when his PR rep, Naomi Carnes spoke. He looked up from his printed speech and eyed her as she was perusing her computer tablet.

"Such as?" he asked.

"Well, there're reports of _six_ plane crashes worldwide as of this morning."

"I thought it was three."

"Within the last twenty minutes it's gone up to six."

"Is this a terrorist plot?"

"If it is, it's very clever. The air traffic control rooms have played some of the transmissions from the pilots on the news sites. And _all_ of them seemed to not be under duress or instructions from hijackers, it's more like they're all...discombobulated, confused, can't get their heads straight to fly the planes right."

Now Avery rose his mid-forties yet trim and formally suited form from his office chair and began scanning his own tablet. His brow became furled, disturbed. "...Shit, there's seven now—one just happened in London...What the devil is this, some kind of nerve gas that muddies up the brain or something?"

"Who can say; but that would be my guess as well. Yet no one has come forth to claim responsibility thus far."

"Oh, they will eventually. These types are always proud of their work and want the world to know it."

"Crazy world, sir," she commented, slowly shaking her head a bit. "Are you sure you didn't upset the misses somehow? Because we know what kind of universal repercussions that usually has," she noted to add some levity.

"No, nothing," he said, "Things would have happened a lot quicker than twenty minutes if that were the case." And he grinned wider.

"No doubt." She too expanded her smile. Soon, however, she sobered with, "Sir, I think we need to incorporate this new crisis into our speech. The people will want to know your specific views and stance on it."

"You're right. Bring Pete in so we can go to work on retooling the address."

"Got it, sir," And she left his office to find their crack speech writer.

Avery began to mull things over in his head, wondering if the plane situation was just the tip of the iceberg for a terrorist siege on the world—on the _U.S._

And suddenly he had a strong urge to call his wife to see if she and their two children were okay, safe. He produced his cellphone and dialed his beloved Jinn.

She answered and he said, "Hey, is everything okay with you and the kids?"

"We're okay. Have you been watching the news though? _Seven_ plane crashes as well as a record amount of car crashes just in the NYC alone. I've kept the kids home from school today."

"That's probably wise. Look, I'm going to have to work on my speech as a result of these new developments. Can you make it over to your parent's house and stay there until I can reach you?"

"Sure. How long do you think you'll be?"

"I have the scheduling meeting at two, then dinner with the mayor at five. Then we'll need to do a run-through of the address tomorrow afterwards. I'd say about 8:30, 9."

"Okay. We'll wait up for you. Be careful, all right? Politicians are always targets."

"Even city councilmen?"

"The ones that count anyway."

He smiled at that and said, "Love you, hon. You guys be careful, too, getting there."

"We will."

He hung up, replaced his phone in his pocket, then looked at his tablet again. After hitting refresh, the news sites now announced an eighth airliner crash.

Chapter 5

"You got time to talk, Tab?" Paul asked through the phone as he stood in his apartment living room. He was not in good spirits.

"I have a few minutes before class—but _please_ don't try in that small amount of time to try and turn things around for us. I'm not coming back to you—in fact, I should probably tell you I've spoken to a divorce attorney."

"Well...I guess that it was sort of my mistake in marrying someone fresh out of high school—you'd just want to waist no time in making things happen."

"Us kids have no patience, is that it?"

"Well now, we know you're not a kid anymore. Already you're married and working toward a divorce. Pretty heady stuff here."

"Look, is there another reason you called other than us? Because we've been round and round on this."

"There is actually..." he trailed off with a loaded tone.

"...What is it, what's wrong?" she asked with genuine concern.

"You...you know I don't usually talk to you about my work—"

"Yes, I do know that."

"Well anyway, I feel like I need to talk to somebody about this...Yesterday I was in pursuit of a family on the run...their boy needed some medication badly but the parents were denying him it; you know, your basic loony toons cult types..."

"Right, okay..."

"Anyway, I finally pinned them down, but the father had a weapon on the son. I had mine on the father and...well, long story short, I had a small window of opportunity to disarm the father—and I should have taken it...but... _something_ clouded my head for a second or two...and because of it I lost the mother and almost lost the boy—"

"How is the boy now?"

"He's, ah, he's hanging in there, in a coma basically because I couldn't get to him in time."

"Oh God, I'm sorry," she offered with genuine remorse.

"Yeah, me too. But my main point is, as a detective I've always been able to keep my head absolutely clear and sharp in reaction time, it's one of the reasons I've stayed alive so long on the job— _and_ keep others out of harm's way...So I'm just wondering if what's going on with us is in some way affecting my performance as a detective—I'm not saying it is for sure, don't think I'm trying to say this is _your_ fault in any way, please don't think that...Really, I'm just trying to figure out what happened to me—because now I've been called into question by the division and state department internal affairs for how things went down."

"Holy crap, Paul..."

"Yeah, I know, it's not going to be pleasant—I could get suspended. Already they've given me a week off while they review their decision to go forward with an inquest."

"Well I'm sorry this is happening to you, Paul—truly I am—but...I'm not sure what I could possibly do to solve your problem—"

"No, I know. I'm not asking for a solution from you, I just...I needed to talk to someone—and Virg is already dealing with enough on his own...Look, the thing is I love you and I know I screwed up by shutting you out, but I don't want to do that anymore—even if there's no way back for us in our marriage."

"Well, I appreciate that. I miss us just being able to talk...and I _do_ love you...Look, I've gotta go. We'll talk more later, all right?"

"Sure. Be good in school, kid."

"Piss off, old timer. Talk to ya."

And they hung up. Paul smiled and laughed a touch. Already he was feeling a tad better having talked to his estranged younger wife—even though she had every intention of divorcing him.

Suddenly, the phone rang. He answered.

"Hey Paul, it's Deke."

"Hey Deke, how's things in the land of politician sitting?"

"You know, we don't just guard government types."

"I know, I know, occasionally you pick up a gig watching plastic pop stars who make the tweeners lose their piss."

"That's better."

They both laughed, then Paul asked, "What's up, Boy Wonder?"

"Listen, we got a councilman we're working for today but I'm short a man—and since you trained most of us anyway..."

"What time's the gig?"

"One this afternoon."

"...I, uh, all right. What time do you want me...?

"Meet us at the shop at 11:30 and we'll go over the details and all."

"Sounds good, see you there."

At 11:28 AM, Paul indeed was present outside the complex building featuring the Ironguard Security offices. He was met by his longtime friend—and former fellow detective of the state department—Deke Slate. Along with five other employees whom Deke supervised. They all greeted each other with varying degrees of familiarity, comradery.

Soon, however, Deke got down to it. "Okay, folks, here's the rundown of the opp: Coucilman Avery Chen will be speaking at the Jackson Hall at approximately 1 PM. There are four exits to the place so we'll need four to cover those. I will be backstage keeping an eye on things from that vantage point. Then we'll have two out in the crowd watching for any funnies—Paul, this is where you'll be positioned along with Mel here."

Paul nodded at Deke and at the one named Mel.

"Ready?" Deke said to the crew, and they all signaled that they were. "Good. Let's go make 'em safe." And they departed in the company humvee.

Chapter 6

Paul was in position within the crowd of onlookers eagerly awaiting the appearance of Avery Chen. A buzz of conversation played throughout the packed amphitheater. Paul had been allotted the front and center position just beyond the stage, while Mel hung back in the rear. Both men kept their eyes roving across the sea of audience members.

In addition there were also two security guards who stood sentry over either side of the massive room. These were the regular guards that worked at Jackson Hall full time, and would work in conjunction with Ironguard.

All would keep a sharp eye out for radical or unstable types—though none truly anticipated too much trouble for a councilman on his way up. No matter how largely popular he already was.

And a little late as it turned out: it was already 1:15 PM. But this primarily had to do with the final tweaking of the speech. More plane crashes had occurred.

But finally an announcer came out and readied the crowd. "Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention please...I have a very important question for all of you...Are you ready to clear a path for _real change_?!" The audience cheered. "Are you ready to go on a journey _for_ that change?!" Bigger cheers. "Are you ready to meet and hear your next New York State senator, AVERY CHEN?!" The loudest cheers, then deep applause...

...As Chen, himself, walked on stage to wave and smile. He approached the podium and belted, "Thank you! Thank you so much...! Thanks for coming out, you know...there have been, as you may have heard, some very disturbing events quite recently... _twenty-two_ airliner crashes in the last _twenty-four_ hours...Many are speculating that we are under a new and alarming rash of terrorist attacks—even though no one as of yet has claimed responsibility..."

As Chen spoke on to the crowd, a small boy peered his head out from between and behind two audience members. He was a disturbed looking sort with disheveled black hair and a wicked smile, pale as chalk with eyes that didn't quite move together. One kept rapidly wiggling from side to side while the other dipped down slowly, snapped back up, then repeated.

Strangely, no one noticed him. They were too focused on Chen. What was a little boy going to do anyway to threaten safety? At least that's what everyone thought at the time....

Paul caught sight of him briefly, but was quickly distracted by a woman who appeared to be eyeing him unblinkingly. Even when he averted his attention elsewhere and swept back to her, she also returned her gaze to him...but finally she turned her focus on Chen again.

"...only speculate as to why this catastrophe is taking place, but as your senator— _your_ representative—I promise to form a special committee to investigate fully..."

The audience watched on. And didn't catch the boy as he let slip down a syringe needle from his longsleeve cuff. He gripped the plunger and thumbed the end, ready to push when he desired. He was leaned forward as he stared out behind the two people—one a man, the other a woman. The boy stuck the man in the back of his neck and shoved in the plunger. All of the syringes contents instantly entered his body.

The man flinched, feeling the sting like a mosquito bite, and slapped his hand to the back of his neck. With a cinched brow he turned about—and saw only the people seated behind him. Had he stood up while he turned, he would have caught the boy hiding down below at the feet of the onlookers.

_Must have got stung_ , the man guessed, and turned back around to follow the speech once more.

"...We often times get despondent, thinking, there's no fixing how the world is, no fixing how our _own_ country operates. And we get bogged down and confused by so many convoluted and complex issues..."

Paul darted his eyes all about the crowd, maintaining a proper track of their behaviors or anything suspicious. For a second, though, he averted his eyes to the woman, the one who showed an unusual interest in him. The one with dark, shoulder-length hair and very stoic look to her. Not necessarily unattractive, but officious looking. She was not staring at him now.

"...but I am here to tell you that I _have_ studied these issues extensively. And I know there is a solution...And together we can—"

Suddenly, the audience's attention was snap-averted to the man who was "stung" as he began to jerk and flail loudly in his chair. Abruptly, he was on his feet, gyrating and convulsing. And spouting vocal clips of incoherency.

People quickly rose around him and backed away, frightened that the man was having a drug-induced episode or a massive seizure.

Paul and the other guards were already on their way to the man's location, hoping to get the man under control—and out of the theater.

It seemed as if the man would lose his balance at any moment and fall over the seats in front of him. And he almost did—but the people from those seats blocked his fall with their outstretched arms. He convulsed on in physical madness.

Paul and the other three finally reached the man and brought him to the floor. Even with the man firmly pinned down by four grown men, he still managed to twitch and jerk. He hiccupped, "Help-help—me—please!"

Paul offered, "Just hang in there! We're gonna—!"

But then he heard something that cut his attention away to the stage—to Avery's spot.

"NEEDLE!!!" screamed Deke's voice from offstage. He ran out onstage to try and intercept the sprinting boy as he was heading straight toward Avery. The insane child was quick—but Deke was quicker and he tackled the boy flat, gripping the boy's wrist to keep the needle from sticking anyone. In the next instant, the other offstage guard came to assist by stepping on the needle and breaking it off the syringe.

Deke barked, "Kick that syringe out of his hand! Stomp on his fist if you have to!"

But the boy knew he was had, and released the broken syringe from his grasp.

"Smart boy," Deke said, then to his associate, "Get that then stand by Chen, make sure no one else gets near him!"

"Got it." And the guard turned and sped toward Avery. "Mr. Chen, you okay?"

"Yeah," Avery announced, "Just a little rattled, that's all. My God, do you see that boy's eyes?"

The boy was now planted securely in the back of a squad car that had arrived on the scene twenty minutes earlier. The backdoors were locked from the outside, of course, and the wild boy was bound from behind his back. From the officer's assumption—as well as Paul's—it seemed clear that the boy wasn't going anywhere. They stared with concern at the young one as they stood close to the car. But the boy didn't stare back. Instead he kept his head down.

"Whaddya think," started the local cop to Paul, "you think he's a mental case who slipped through the cracks of the system? Or part of this terrorist scare that's going on?"

"Beats the hell outta me," Paul answered. "The whole thing is just plain weird. If it's terrorism, it's sure an odd way to go about it. I mean, why not just blow the place?"

"Right, and what's the other guy's story?" They both switched their gazes to the other squad car with the jerking, twitching man locked up in the back. "Was he working with the kid or what?"

"Sure seems convenient, doesn't it—he wigs out distracting everyone in the place while the kid goes after the councilman...whole thing is weird..."

"I think you mentioned that—but yeah, I agree, there's something funny going on..." The car with the man drove off on its way to the local station. "...And I'm not sure we're going to get anything coherent outta that guy..."

"Well if not, good luck with the kid."

"You comin' down to make an official statement?"

"Suppose so. Only problem is, I wasn't working in an official capacity at this function. I was simply helping out a friend with security for the place."

"State police moonlighting as crowd control. Now I've heard everything."

"Yeah well, they were one short so..."

"Lemme guess, unofficial suspension for a shooting gone wrong."

"How'd you know th—?"

"Hell, two-thirds of our unit has been under suspicion for that at one time or another. Took a wild guess. Anyway, if you weren't on any official payroll, we could just list you as an audience member, and play it that way for the statement."

"Sounds good...All right, I'll see you down there."

"Will do."

A minute later, the boy-loaded vehicle was off as well, heading for the same destination as the other car.

Paul met back up would Deke and his men as they were emerging from the amphitheater entrance. "Deke, nice work in there, you're a damn brick wall, my friend."

"Thanks," Deke acknowledged.

"How's the councilman?"

"A little shaken, but he'll live. Boy, I gotta say, that was one of the freakiest gigs I've ever encountered."

"I was just commenting on that."

The cop who talked to Paul was halfway to the station when he heard a hideous whining sound from the boy in the backseat.

"The hell's up with you, kid?" he asked with a bit of annoyance. "Your binders too tight? Well they're not built for comfort, needle boy."

"Nnnnnnnnnnnnehh...." The boy moaned.

"Listen...if you're gonna do that the whole way, count on me doing several quick stops. You get my drift?"

"NnnnnNNNNN!"

"Hey listen, you _really_ need to quit that—"

"NNAAAUURRRANNNGG!!!"

"Dammit, boy, I am _not_ playing with you—!" the cop belted as he made a quick turn of the head to flash threatening eyes at the boy.

And that's exactly when the boy spat darkened blood straight at the man. Blood from his bitten tongue. Though there was a barrier between the front and back seats, it was a crisscross mesh only. And the blood made it mostly through to splatter right into the officer's eyes.

Immediately after, he turned back and madly squinted. Now blinded, he exploded an "AH! You—!"

But before he could finish, the car was careening wildly out of control. It ran straight into a streetlamp up on a sidewalk, then spun as a result of the impact. Another car smashed into it from its front end, knocking the cop and boy around a second time.

After skidding sideways a few feet, the patrol car halted to a stop. The cop was bloodied and clearly unconscious; his head lulled forth, slack mouthed.

People from both sidewalks and various buildings converged on the accident. Cars around it slowed and stopped, and people got out to assess the damage, offer assistance.

A couple of men entered from both front doors of the patrol car in an attempt to aid the cop. A woman rushed to the back door and opened it up to get at the child. She gingerly carried the seemingly comatose boy onto the street just by the car, and laid him down on the street. She rapidly began CPR on him.

The cop was a different story. The good Samaritans flanking him in the car were loathed to try and move him out of his seat, for fear of causing further injury. They were verbally trying to revive him.

Suddenly, the woman bolted up from the boy and flailed all about. She began body-wide tremors and vocal incoherencies. She staggered away from the boy—and for a brief moment, the attention of the crowd was drawn to her. Even the two men who were attempting to jar the cop back to consciousness trained their eyes on the gyrating woman.

Now some onlookers were actually trying to approach her, to come to her aid, as she eventually fumbled to the ground. Once there, her convulsions increased. More people rushed to her.

Yet as distracted as they were by the new spectacle, one girl still remembered the boy's situation. She looked back toward his location by the patrol car—then popped her eyes in disbelief.

As she witnessed that the boy was gone and nowhere to be found.

Chapter 7

Roddy and Celia had been fully packed with food and supplies when they left what was remaining of their hometown. But that was yesterday and their food and drink were now running low.

They came upon another town hoping to find people to tell the story of what happened to them. But this next town was also completely devastated by quakes and explosions.

They rummaged through the weave of split earth and crumbled buildings to restock their food. It was emotionally grueling to go through the ruin of other people's lives and pick out—steal—from their pantries. But it was necessary, of course, and they did so silently, respectfully. It was most trying when a corpse was right by the food compartments. Especially for Celia's continence which had never been the strongest. But even with Roddy's more resolved stomach, both had almost lost their lunch more than once.

And, as they had before, they still searched for possible survivors, but found not a one. So they backpacked their new supplies and left out of town, hoping that the next one would be untouched by devastation. And that it would be much closer by.

As it happened, the next _was_ only a few miles away.

And because of this, the two children were in time to see the true reason for the town-to-town destruction.

And its origin, oddly enough, was not a total shock to either of them.

Roddy and Celia hid behind a deadened tree as they stared wide-eyed at the new town only two hundred feet beyond. At the hooded and half-headed man who stood on the edge of the town entrance...

...He lacerated his arm and let fall a spew-line of oily-black blood to the dirt ground.

And instantly afterward, the earth beneath the blood began to tremor then rip apart in an ever-widening gap. It spread in length as well as width—and depth.

The hooded man casually walked himself into town, clasping his wound to stop the blood flow. But only for intermittent periods before he would let the liquid hit the dirt and the walls of town buildings. Once done, the same chaotic reactions occurred. Soon, the screams and explosions followed, echoing what Roddy and Celia had already encountered in their own town.

"No!" Celia whispered in terror. "We have to stop him!"

" _How?_ " Roddy asked, sharing his sister's sentiment but realizing they were helpless against a man who could bleed destruction!

"This is too horrible, Roddy—how can someone be able to do this?!"

"Don't know...but this proves what I said, that he's evil, Celia. He's a devil of some kind...maybe he's _the_ Devil, coming to destroy all of us."

"I never believed that sort of thing, Roddy."

"Well you better believe in something...because it's happening right in front us, girl!"

"I don't wanna look anymore." And she hid herself behind the tree. And slid down to hug herself, unnerved. Though she couldn't see the devastation happening, she could certainly hear it.

Even after she glued her hands to her ears.

Chapter 8

Martha couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"...All right...No, from a certain point of view, I understand...This is just not...Well, we'll be Hamburg by then...Are you sure about this?...All right...Call me if you change your minds...Bye." And the eldest sister hung up the hotel room phone. And faced her sisters. "They've cancelled the book signing at Bollerman's."

"You can't be serious," Mary said in disbelief.

"Well, what did we come here for then?" Mandy asked, irked.

Martha offered, "They think that there's just too much of a risk of a terrorist incident."

"At my book signing?!" Mary asked, shocked.

"I _know_ , that's what I was trying to get through to them, but they won't listen to reason one bit."

"Well, what if this keeps happening with every event we have scheduled?!"

"Listen, let's not panic, all right? We're not buried yet."

"Honestly, guys," Mandy gingerly put in, "I'm not sure we're going to be able to go anywhere else in the continent. They've been suspending flights more and more each day."

"We'll rent a car for a few weeks if we have to—but I'm not ready to give up ship totally just yet. We _can_ make this work, girls—somehow, someway."

In the next instant, a moaning, ever-increasing, descending sound pierced the hotel room, causing the women to stare at each other. They all rushed to the window—just in time to discover the source of the sound...

...a small commercial plane as it rammed itself into the building across the street from their hotel! Upon impact it exploded and cratered the side of the building.

Their room's own window cracked in several crooked lines, as Mandy gasped, "My God!"

Smoldering pieces of the plane and the building fell to the ground. People below screamed and ran. The sisters were petrified.

"...That was the building just across from ours..." Mandy uttered in fear, "...It could have easily been _this_ building...I don't wanna be here anymore, I wanna get back home—now!"

Martha quickly turned on her. "You can't mean that, this tour is important for us!"

"Did you _see_ what just happened, Martha?! This country is under serious attack from loony toon types—!"

"And do you think it's any better back in the states?! Check your phone, these crashes have been happening all over the world, darling!"

"Well then—better to be under the threat of dying back home! I never wanted to come here anyway; I only did it so I could see you guys, because we barely get a chance to be a family anymore—!"

" _Guys,_ " Mary cut in evenly, "please, let's not do this. The three of us at each other's throats is not going to help anything."

Overwhelmed, Mandy had to sit down; tears shined her eyes as she cried.

Martha walked over to her and sat beside her, put a hand on her shoulder. "I know this is upsetting, but if you let these people dictate your every action, then they have achieved their goal."

"...I know..."

"Let's keep going, let's not let them win...let's live our lives, honey."

Wiping away falling tears, Mandy conceded, "All right...all right..."

Chapter 9

Paul was indeed correct when he told his soon-to-be ex-wife, Tabitha, that his longtime partner, Virgil Banks had been going through a lot.

Two days ago was the fifth anniversary of Virgil's wife and daughter's death by car crash.

The tragic incident had occurred as a result of Mrs. Klegman, a retired tax attorney whose vision was lacking as of the last ten years. The 89-year-old woman had her drivers license revoked as a consequence, but she occasionally drove anyway. She felt insulted and embarrassed that she couldn't be allowed to get around on her own anymore. The hell with 'em, was her general attitude concerning the matter: _I've been driving longer than most of these government types have been alive! No one's going to tell me how to live my life, dammit all!_

Of course, after she absently ran a red light and plowed into Sally, Virg's wife, and their four-year-old daughter, Sasha, as they were crossing the street, Mrs. Klegman felt quite differently on the matter. Particularly now that she was serving ten years at Bayland Women's Correctional Facility.

Virgil certainly had a mountain of emotional weight to carry. And this drove him more in his job, especially when it came to cases of family tragedy, whether it be kidnappings, abuse, or missing children. If he couldn't do anything about saving his own family, he would dedicate his profession, his life to the pursuit of saving other families.

His newest assignment pertained to the last scenario—a missing child case.

Delia Carson was a 42-year-old widow of an Iraqi war veteran—and the mother of Michael, a sixteen-year-old boy. Mikey, as most people called him, had been afflicted with severe autism and barely spoke a word if you could get him to speak it. But he loved birds, loved studying them—to the point of obsession. To the point of avoiding everything else—even using the bathroom when needed. Sometimes, Mikey would walk off in search of a particular type of bird and not be back for hours. The mother had stated this to the therapist and the specialists provided for the boy.

And now it appeared that Mikey had disappeared for a lot longer than just a few hours. Now it was days. And he hadn't been seen since his mother had tucked him into bed two nights earlier. From the report, when she woke up he was long gone. That morning, an extensive search of the surrounding areas had been put into action by the neighborhood's watchdog society. But so far no one could find a trace of him. Delia was reportedly going out of her mind with worry.

The police report was filed and eventually given to Virg—but now a new problem existed for his investigation: his partner had been suspended. Yet that situation might be rectified soon enough, as it was turning out that more and more state officers were calling in sick...of a sort. Some complained of serious dizziness and a general disconnect from clear thinking. "I just can't put my thoughts together today," one had claimed. "I think I'm coming down with pneumonia or something." Even the one assigned to be Virg's temporary partner called in complaining of body tremors and a loss of digestive control. He'd try to make it back in as soon as he could, but right now...

Right now, Virg needed a partner. So he went to his supervisor and argued to have Paul reinstated—at least for the current case. "Call it an emergency provision or whatever regulations allow, but I need a back-up I can trust," he pleaded to his superior. The man told Virg he would see what he could do to make it official...in the meantime, bring Paul along in an observer capacity to aid in the case.

Virg thanked him and contacted Paul to meet him at his apartment. Twenty minutes later, both partners were present at Virg's place.

Virg explained the new situation that allowed Paul to be "unofficially reinstated" and the particulars of the case.

"Virg, I appreciate the vote of confidence—but it's true, I screwed up on a case; I should have reacted better and I didn't," Paul admitted.

"Doesn't mean it's going to happen again," Virg countered as he poured coffee for himself and his partner. "You know, none of us are perfect, despite our years of training, experience, and gut instincts. Hell, I dropped a clip once, you know that."

"Yeah, lucky I was there to cover your fumble, Virgie-boy."

"Well, that's what I'm talking about. Cripes, Paul, do you know how awful I feel that I wasn't there for you on that last case?"

"You had to take your day, Virg. I wasn't about to make you work when you needed your time."

"Well, next time, do. We're good detectives on our own, probably some of the best. But when we're together on a case, we're that much sharper, better. Like we were meant to work as one, right?"

"...Right."

"So come on, no more of this self-doubt crap, you're a steely-eyed crime-solving machine and I need ya."

"Backs covered, old friend?"

"Why're you even asking? Come on, let's go interview the mother. She lives over in Staunton."

"Thank you for meeting with us, Mrs. Carson," Virg said to the haggard looking Delia. She and the two state detectives stood in her living room shortly after she invited them inside.

"Please, have a seat," Delia droned and they all sat.

"Thanks," Paul and Virg echoed.

"I suppose you need me to go through it all again."

"Well, we know," Virg responded, "that you already gave the local authorities a report, but we would greatly appreciate it if you could recount the events as you know them. Perhaps something new has occurred to you about the details of the disappearance..."

"No, nothing new. I'll tell you what I told them: it was one of those difficult nights with him—where all he would do was recite information and statistics on birds, endlessly. I tried to get him to eat something, practically shoving food into his mouth and forcing him to bite and swallow but it's very hard, almost impossible to do while he's ranting away. I must admit, I got angry with him, told him that I was going to throw out all of his bird books and break every video disc he had about them...It's so funny, most times you can't get a word out of him..." Her face screwed up and she began to cry. "...I'm sorry..."

"It's absolutely fine, Mrs. Carson," Virg offered. "Just take your time."

After composing herself, she continued, "I sent him to bed in frustration. I knew that if he got hungry enough he would come into the kitchen and find something later on in the night. His room is next to mine, and I could still hear him rambling on about the birds long after I turned in. This has happened before—and occasionally he'll do it for maybe ten to fifteen minutes more then stop. But _this_ night was a bad one—he went on for hours."

"What would you do in that case, Mrs. Carson?" Paul asked.

"I have noise cancelling headphones...which I did wear that night after about forty-five minutes of his ranting...Unfortunately, it also prevented me from hearing him leave the house..." Her face turned sour.

"When do you think he might have done that?" Virg tried.

"Leave the house? Could have been anytime after 11 PM to the time before I got up, which was around 7:30 in the morning."

Paul put in, "Did he leave any clue no matter how slight as to where he might have gone?"

"Not that I recognize."

"Where does he usually go when he disappears for, say, a few hours or so?"

"Sunderland Fields sometimes...maybe Graham Library. Are you thinking he might turn up there at one point?"

"It's a possibility," Virg said, "We should keep a lookout just in case."

"The neighborhood watch people could help with that."

"It's worth mentioning to them. Now, has he ever gone off like this for more than a few hours?"

"Half a day at most—but never more than that, not like now."

"Does he have any good friends, anyone he has latched onto as, say, a father figure or a sibling figure, anyone?" Paul asked.

"Not really. I suppose there is somewhat of an attachment—or at least a fairly comfortable familiarity—with his therapists...but beyond that there was just me..." And she blinked a few times, looking off.

"What are their names?" Virg said getting his flip note pad ready for writing.

"Um, there's Nicholas Banning, who comes on the odd days of the week, and Maureen Nash on the evens. Then there's Sela Torres, who is Mikey's physical therapist."

"And they work for?"

"Independence Therapy Specialists, or ITS."

"...ITS," Virg repeated as he wrote. "Okay, thank you. Now one more question: were there any signs of a break-in?"

"Nothing, no, I mean, the door was unlocked when I got up but it wasn't open."

"So you're saying if he was abducted by someone, it happened outside of the house?" Paul proposed.

"If he _was_ taken, I don't know for sure."

"But that's your assumption, if I'm not mistaken."

"Well, if you know Mikey like I do, he was a severe creature of habit. To deviate from something seems unthinkable to him. Something out of the ordinary _must_ have happened."

"Mrs. Carson, thank you for your time—oh, I'm sorry, just one more thing: are there any family members that live close by?" Virg asked.

"No. Most of my family lives back in Montana where I grew up. No one is out here."

"What about friends you have, Mrs. Carson?"

"None to speak of. Mikey's care is pretty much all I have time for after work."

"Where do you work?"

"Tollman's Grocery as a checker."

"How long?"

"Five years, since my husband passed."

"I'm sorry about that. I hear he was a veteran of Afghanistan."

"Yes, and Iraq, where he was killed in action."

"I know this sounds incredibly insensitive, but I have to ask, have you dated anyone since?"

"No. like I said, I really don't get time for that sort of thing."

"No one at work that may have an interest in you?"

"No, no one."

"At any point in time?"

"Not that I was ever aware of."

"How 'bout is there anyone there that seems off the wall, unbalanced in any way?"

"Everyone there seems off to me...No, no one to any frightening degree."

"...Once again, thanks so much for meeting with us, we know this has all been very traumatic." Virg and Paul rose together, and Delia followed suit.

She offered, "Well I'll be okay as long as we can just find him."

"We'll do our best to see that it happens."

"Thanks for seeing us," Paul gave as he and Virg turned for the door.

"Thank you," droned Delia as she followed after and saw them out.

"Something's off," Paul announced as Virg drove them back to the station.

"You got that too, eh?" Virg concurred. "I'm thinking it's the whole 'family not being around' thing."

"There it is. I mean, I guess it's possible that she was stuck out here after her husband died."

"Right, but if you were in her position of having to take care of a kid in Mikey's condition, wouldn't you want to be close to family?"

"I know I would. The therapists are one thing, but moral support is another."

"Would long distance phone calls do it for you?"

"Not really."

"Well let's start doing some background on the family, start talking to them, as many as possible."

"Got it."

Chapter 10

"I wanna go to America, Celia," Roddy announced as they were leaving the latest town to be demolished by the hooded one. "I think we should try."

"Are you crazy? What about the border patrol?" Celia responded.

"Maybe the evil man will make them fall into the earth before we get there."

"Roddy, that's awful!"

"I'm sorry, but I don't wanna stay in a country that has death everywhere!"

"What if it's there _too_?!"

"Then...we'll find some rocket skateboards, they have those there—from what I hear."

" _Who_ told you that?"

"Uncle Chino. He's been there and told me they have 'em."

"You don't know if any of that's true."

"You don't think he went to America?"

"No, I don't."

"Chino would never lie to me, Celia."

"Whatever."

"Rocket skateboards, you wait and see."

"What does it matter? It's about a zillion miles from the border anyway."

"How do you know?"

"Because I looked at a map back in town."

"So you were thinking the same thing then?"

" _All_ I was doing was checking to see what towns are around us."

"So what town are we heading to now?"

"Villa de Jacinto."

"...Or what will be left of it."

"Don't say that! We don't know!"

"You wait and see."

"Stop it... _rocket skateboards_..." She shook her head as they walked on.

"Chino wouldn't lie."

"Yeah, yeah..."

Two hours later, Roddy's prophecy of doom came true for Villa de Jacinto.

It was the same oblivion song and dance: fires hatching from wrecked buildings and plumes of smoke rising. Large cracks in the ground networked all throughout the town.

And, of course, the bodies, hundreds of them strewn everywhere. Charred and broken, none alive.

It was nothing new to the two sibling wanderers as they entered the edge of the devastation and on into it.

What was new now, however, was the sound of a jeep approaching from far off.

"Do you hear that?" Roddy asked his sister.

"Yes! It's a vehicle!" Celia answered.

"It sounds like it's coming this way..."

They backtracked until they could see the jeep coming near. As it zoomed closer and closer, it was clear that the inhabitants of the roaring vehicle were combat types. They were packed with assault rifles, knives, and .45 handguns. All were men of ages 20 to 40. And none of them looked to be in a good mood.

The driver swerved to avoid ramming right into the kids and quickly put on the brakes. They squealed and the jeep halted; but the driver kept the motor running. The rest of the men hopped out and converged on the young ones. One man with a thick, dark beard and mustache barked, "Where are you from? This town or another?"

Caught off guard and frightened, Celia and Roddy stared at each other without responding to the question.

"Answer me!"

They faced the men again with trepidation, and Roddy answered, "Villa de Guadalajara."

"That's twenty miles away, what are you doing here?!"

"N-nothing."

"Nothing...you came twenty miles to do nothing..."

"Our town was wasted, like this one," Celia offered.

"M-hm, ours was wiped out too...But _why_ only the towns and not the rest of the land?"

Both kids stared at the men for a good few seconds, then shrugged with hesitation.

The speaker for the men narrowed his eyes in suspicion for a brief moment, studying the boy and girl for hints of deceit. When he found no falseness in their expressions, he switched his eyes to normal and ordered, "Take 'em. Keep 'em in the jeep while we search this place for supplies."

The men complied.

"But we didn't do anything!" Roddy protested in rising fear as they were herded into the jeep.

"This town is _ours_ now. And you two won't be taking any of _our_ supplies. _Or_ running off to tell anybody else about us. You'll stay in the jeep!"

And the plan _was_ to keep the kids in the jeep the whole "search and extract" venture through the town...until they came upon the local jail. And realized that half the structure was still standing—with workable, wholly contained prison cells.

Now it was possible for the men to search the ruins while they kept the boy and girl in a cell, good and locked up. Less time to have to search, the men reasoned. So Roddy and Celia were thrown in the disgusting cubicle with iron bars for a fourth wall.

"Now keep quiet," they were barked at. "We don't need any ambush from possible survivors. If you do make noise, I'm gonna _have_ her and make you watch, you get me?"

Roddy nodded quickly, terrified.

And the siblings were left alone. Trapped.

Chapter 11

"I'm sorry, mum," sympathized the car rental sales representative behind the rental counter. He faced Martha and her sisters.

Martha emphasized, "You mean you can't rent any vehicles to us right now?"

"I'm afraid not. We can't have any of our cars used in possible terrorist activities."

"You do realize you're going to go out of business that way."

"Not immediately. We have an emergency fund that will sustain us for a number of months."

"Then why aren't you just closed up?"

"Because you can still reserve a tentative rental for, say, three months in advance. Hopefully the troubles will be better by then. Would you like to book a rental in advance?"

" _No, thank you..._ " And she turned from the rep to walk closer to her sisters, one of which was just hanging up on Martha's phone.

"So, no go?" Mary asked though she knew the answer by Martha's expression, "Well it doesn't matter anyway. The bulk of our in-stores have been cancelled. I just listened to your messages."

"Well, that's it, folks," Mandy announced, "This trip is officially a bust. I vote we try to get back home."

"I'm sorry, but I think she's right, Martha. I can't see any reason for us to stay now," Mary agreed with regret.

Martha conceded, "Sadly enough, neither can I. Now for the next problem: how to get home. Planes are out, I think we all know that by now. But what about a cruise liner?"

"That sounds fun," Mandy said with a turn of enthusiasm.

"Sure, if _those_ are still in operation," Mary countered.

"They are," Martha revealed, "I checked an hour ago."

"So you were already thinking of getting us back home then."

"As your manager and publicist, I have to be prepared for things, you know that."

"Well...go ahead and get us some tickets then."

"I'll need my phone."

"Oh—whoops..." And she handed Martha's phone back to her.

Chapter 12

Paul and Virg had made it back to the station and began checking up on Delia's family in the computer database.

"Well, she wasn't lying about the bulk of her family," Virg conceded as he sat behind the PC and stared at its contents. "They all live in Montana..."

" _Except_ the brother," Paul said as he bent over, resting his hands on Virg's chair and gazed over his shoulder. "Who lives—or _lived_ —right here in New York."

"Last known address was Stockton back in 2007...But where is he now? Off the grid?"

"Maybe. Street person perhaps?"

"Or ultra-freedom-patriot-live-off-the-land guy."

"Or cult member. Something is keeping him from dear sis."

"If it's cult status, it may explain how Mikey was taken without a struggle—or appearance of a break-in. Maybe the brother had a key to the place, and walked in and said, 'Hey Mikey, ya up for a midnight stroll?'"

"It's a good possibility. Now how do we find this guy? S'pose we pay another visit to the sis?"

"I don't know...I guess we have to, it just seems odd that she didn't mention him in the first place."

"Well, it's one of two things, in my opinion. One, maybe they don't keep in touch anymore and she had no idea he was in New York. Or two, she knows but had such a huge falling out with him that it wasn't worth mentioning he held residence here."

"Good possibilities...Why don't we start first with the Montana folks and see if they can clear some things up. Then we'll go back to sis."

"...I agree."

So they began calling all of the relatives they could get a hold of in Montana. There was an interesting split in terms of cooperation. Some wanted nothing to do with the questioning—and even hung up rudely. While others offered their sincere condolences that the boy was missing, wished they could do something about it, but gave nothing more.

Yet one call revealed just what the detectives were hoping for.

"Mrs. McLaren, you're Delia's cousin, that's correct?" Virg asked the phone.

And the voice through it replied, "Yes, that's right."

"And how close were you with Delia and her immediate family?"

"Pretty close, we used to visit every summer and Christmas."

"I see, and how would you describe the relationship between Delia and her brother, Kenneth?"

"Typical, I guess. Sometimes they'd get along real well, sometimes they'd fight."

"So both, would you say, were solid individuals—no deep bouts of depression, acting out, in and out of trouble with the law, that type of thing?"

"Mmm, no. Actually, I'm surprised they turned out so well considering the people who raised them. I don't like to speak ill of people in general—but Calvert and Nadine were oil and water, always at each other's throats. And most of the time fighting right in front of the kids. Even when I'd visit, they'd openly threaten to kill one another, throw stuff around, slam doors, storm out of the house...I loved their kids but I couldn't stand them."

"So when was the last time you saw Delia or Kenneth?"

"Oh gosh, um...well I'd seen Delia at her husband's funeral, of course—poor girl..."

"Was Kenneth in attendance?"

"No, at least not while I was there. I suppose he could have paid his respects earlier. I _had_ asked about him but Delia said she didn't want to discuss him."

"So there might have been a major rift between the two..."

"If so, I don't know what it could be about. But to be honest, I hadn't seen them for about eight years before the funeral. Listen, you don't honestly think that Kenneth would kidnap Mikey, do you? I mean, he just wouldn't do something like that, ever."

"I appreciate your insight on the matter, but I'm afraid until we know for certain, we cannot rule out any possibilities. Frankly, it seems odd that we can't locate Kenneth even though his last address places him in Stockton, right here in New York."

"I had heard that he moved closer to Delia. I always assumed that they stayed close. But now he's missing too?"

"Looks that way."

"Then there must be something that's happened that I'm not aware of. I'm sorry, I wish I knew more."

"That's all right, you've actually helped us a great deal. Thanks for talking with us."

"Please find the boy soon," she pleaded. "If he's on his own, he won't survive for long."

"We're going to do everything we can."

Virg thanked her again and hung up. As Paul did too, he was listening to the same call on another phone.

"Well, it's a start," Paul said.

"Listen, at this point, I don't want to upset Delia anymore than we have. I'd rather we start backtracking on Kenneth."

"Start looking into his last place of employment and all?"

"Right, visit his last residence on file as well—see if anyone has the slightest clue to his whereabouts."

"Sounds good, let's hit it."

"All right, lemme..." And he punched the proper screen window, wrote down the right info on his pad, and followed Paul out the door.

Kenneth's last job was a delivery service for electrical transformers. He worked the will call and sales front desk. This was seven years ago, but the same manager of the place still worked there. The man invited Paul and Virg into his office to discuss Kenneth's job performance.

"Seemed like a decent fella," offered the manager, whose name was Sol Wilkinson—a rotund sort in his mid-fifties. "Kenneth wasn't with us but a few years, but a good worker, got the orders straight."

Paul asked, "Do you know why he quit?"

"Aahh, let's see now...I believe he said he was moving back home—but, oh, I remember asking where we could send his last paycheck, because he left a bit sudden, no two weeks notice. And he said he'd be by to pick it up but he never did."

"And that was the last you'd heard of him?" Virg asked.

"'Fraid so. He didn't do something awful like rob a bank or kill someone, did he? Truthfully, he didn't seem like the type..."

"No, no, nothing like that. We're just need to ask him some questions, and he seems to have gone off the grid."

" _Oh_ , well..."

"Is there anyone still working here who was close with him, hung out or...?"

"My secretary is the only one who has worked here as long as I have. Aside from that, too many employees have come and gone. Sorry."

"That's all right. Thanks for your time, we greatly appreciate it."

Paul handed Sol a card, "Here's our direct line in case you can remember anything else. Or if Kenneth gets back in touch for any reason."

"Will do." Sol assured.

And Paul and Virg were back on the road, heading toward Kenneth's final living address before he disappeared from official record. Stockton was a bit of a drive, but, of course, they were state police and used to long travel.

They arrived at the proper apartment establishment and located the onsite superintendant—a woman in her early sixties named Luanne Kemp.

"I'll have to check my files, I'm not exactly remembering who you're talking about," Luanne admitted as she punched keys on the office PC. "...Uuuhhh, okay, here it is, Kenneth Beechum. Was here seven years ago from April, two years prior, to June. Then zip, gone, didn't worry about his security deposit collection, just paid his final rent and left. No forwarding address, nothing, sorry."

Again, Paul tried, "Did anyone here know him?"

"You can try Mr. Seagrave in 4C. He's been here for fifteen years."

Paul and Virg knocked on 4C's door and an elderly man in his seventies named Donald Seagrave answered.

"Mr. Seagrave, I'm Detective Virgil Banks and this is Detective Paul Danford. Can we talk to you for a few moments?"

"Oh sure, would you like to come in? My place is bit messy but I promise it's not a landfill or anything." The detectives thanked him and entered. "Would you two want a cola or a water?" he asked as he motioned for them to sit on his couch.

"No. Thank you."

"Thanks, no."

"All right then," the elderly man said and settled into his aged recliner. "What can I do you for?"

"Do you happen to remember a man who use to live here named Kenneth Beechum?" Virg started. "This would be about seven years ago."

"Sure, I remember Kenneth. In fact, I still have some of his mail, believe it or not. The mailman placed it in my box by mistake one day, and I held on to it thinking that Kenneth might come back for it."

"May we take a look at it?" Paul asked.

"Sure—mind you, I didn't open any of it, I'm not a snoop or anything," he added as he went over to a cabinet. He pulled out four sealed envelops that seemed thick with paper-folded contents. Then he walked back to hand them to the two. After, he sat back down. "Now, I'm curious—and I hope you don't think I'm overstepping my bounds by asking but—as police, do you guys have the authority to open someone else's mail where the average person couldn't?"

"We can," Virg admitted, "But we would need to obtain a search warrant under what is called exigent circumstances. And we couldn't open it here and reveal to you the contents of the envelops."

"Ah, I see," Mr. Seagrave said and nodded in understanding, "But just by looking at the fronts of the envelops, does any of it look like it might help with your...whatever you're trying to find?"

Paul and Virg scanned the printed info on the white envelops and found nothing conclusive. One looked like a bill, two, credit card offers—but one possibly held some promise of a helpful clue. It was a medical related notice.

Virg offered, "Mmm, one of these might. But, of course, we have to ask, do _you_ have any clue—no matter how vague—as to where Kenneth might have gone from here?"

"Oh gosh, no, we barely spoke. Just the usual 'hi' as we passed each other around the complex, on the stairs and such."

"I see. Can you think of anyone whether they're still living here or not who might have been good friends with Kenneth while he was here?"

"I would see him talk to people, but whether he was close to any one of them I couldn't say. Of course, those people have all left here, so..."

"I see...well, is there anything else you can tell us about Kenneth, anything that might seem out of the ordinary in the slightest?"

"He seemed less chipper in the last days before he left—his greetings became more of just...well...routine, flat, you know? Aside from that, I'm afraid I couldn't be much help. Sorry, guys."

"That's okay, thanks very much for your time, Mr. Seagrave."

"Hey listen..." And the aged man leaned closer forward, his face tensed, especially his eyes. "...do you guys know what has been going on lately with people?"

"What do you mean?" Paul asked with a bit of a suspicious grimace.

"I mean...people have been acting funny in the last few weeks. It's like they're losing their grip on reality or something. My nephew—he's a physicist over at Bambridge University, always the sharpest knife in the set, you know. I see him the other day at the shopping district, and he can't catch his thoughts to figure out what he's doing there. Then five minutes later, I see a woman just walk right into a concession stand. She spilled magazines all over. Couple minutes later, I see not one, not two, but three different people just go bananas, jerkin' and flailin'...So I'm wondering...is this some, like, new kind of terrorist-made funny gas that they're spreadin' to try and make us go crazy or something?"

Paul's eyes blinked with knowing and uncomfortableness. "...Ah, truthfully, that's not something we can comment on—until we know more. The Fed's would be investigating terrorist or possible terrorist activities, so..."

"Ah well...just thought I'd ask. Personally, I think the man up stairs is checking out on us. Maybe he's just fed up with all us and our coo coo ways...but then what the hell do I know."

"Well again, thank you for your time and assistance, Mr. Seagrave." And Paul and Virg stood to start toward the door.

"Don't mention it, hope you boys find what you're looking for, surely." Mr. Seagrave struggled his body up as well and saw them to the door.

Back at the station, and with the search warrant fast tracked, Paul and Virg gingerly opened the envelop containing Kenneth's medical information. Inside was a copy of a paternity test results, along with an explanation of what the results meant in detail.

"Ho-ly crap..." uttered Virg as he read the papers and gained the full enormity of the situation.

Paul was reading right along, and spoke to reveal, "Why Kenneth, you sick little Montana trailer trash..."

"Well now we know why Delia was loathed to mention him in the first place."

Paul looked at Virg, "Do you wanna go back to see her now?"

"Mmm...not just yet, lemme think about this for a second..." Virg's eyes darted about, searching his mind for an instinctual connection to be made. "...If you're someone who has been involved in this sort of thing, and it's obviously had a serious impact on your life...what would be a possible atonement, a plausible clearing of the conscience...?"

"Well we know he hasn't tried to mend fences with the sister...Volunteer in an outreach program maybe? Children and survivors of sexual misconduct and those kind of places...But possibly not under his real name. Falsified credentials would be my guess."

"Let's pull up a list of all those places..." he said as he went to sit at his PC again. Paul followed to over-the-shoulder observe once more. Virg went on, "We won't get his name probably."

"Yeah but we know what he looks like, at least."

"Right."

"...We're going to all of these places in and around Stockton, aren't we?"

"Yyyep."

"Knew you were gonna say that."

Chapter 13

"Roddy...I think we're going to die in here," Celia announced to her older brother as she began to cry.

"No, we're not, come on," Roddy tried to soothe her. "They won't leave us here to die."

"That's just it—I don't want them to come back...I'd rather starve like a dog and rot in here than have to see those men again. You know what they threatened us with."

Roddy's face turned dark. "...I know..."

Suddenly, both of them heard a screaming from outside and from a fair distance away. It sounded to them like the men hollering to "Watch out!" or "Look out!" or something to that effect.

Then the gunfire erupted. And Roddy and Celia instinctively snapped to each other's close and frightened embrace. The loud and echoing rapidfire shots rang out for minutes on end, stopping at brief intervals before amping up again.

A man howled in agony somewhere.

Then an explosion thunderclapped the entire area. The cell and its surrounding structures shimmied, and rained down small chunks and flakes of walling. The children winced and screamed as the blast occurred.

More men shouted from different locations. It was so doubled with echo that barks of orders were indistinct; and the almost constant gunfire didn't help matters.

Another explosion rocked the scene. Again the two in the cell yelped in fear, clenching each other tighter.

And it seemed to go on and on, ramping up their dread at possibly being blown to bits or roasted alive. In their minds' time clock it appeared as if the booming battle outside the prison had lasted at least 30 to 40 minutes.

In reality it had only been 12.

And once it had ended, only one man had re-emerged from the whole of the group Roddy and Celia had encountered.

And to their continued terror, it turned out to be the one who had threatened them. He was armed with his .45. His eyes were white fury. "Did you call them?!" he roared, "Where's the phone you used?!"

Roddy attempted, "...W-we don't have one."

Instantly, the man stormed forth and whipped out the key for the cell. He quickly unlocked the door and swung it aside. He madly searched their clothes but found nothing, no cellphone. He then backed away and swiped up his gun to point it at the nervous children. As he did, he said, "All right. Now here's what's going to happen: you two are going to help me gather up the supplies my men found, and then you'll sit in the jeep while I collect ammo from the dead! Now _move_!"

Celia and Roddy complied without delay, but tried to keep a fair distance from the unhinged man.

Ten minutes later, the supplies were loaded in the jeep, as were the kids. The man was finishing with the spare ammo cartridge collecting, packing his belt and pockets with as much as they could hold. Then he snatched an extra handgun for good measure and marched back to the jeep. Before he got behind the wheel, he faced the children. "You, boy—you're driving."

"B-but I don't know how to—"

"Then you'll learn now. Get behind the wheel. Right foot pedal is for go, left is for stop."

So Roddy obeyed and got behind the wheel. His feet barely reached the pedals. But it seemed plausible that he could actually operate the thing if necessary. And apparently that was now.

"Turn on the ignition," the man ordered, and Roddy did, bursting the engine to life. "Put your right foot on the brake, then put the gear handle in D for drive." Roddy did so. Then the man got in the jeep and sat in the back next to Celia. "Now take your foot off the brake and ease it onto the accelerator." Roddy did like the man described. "Now drive slow until you get a better feel for it. And I warn you, if you go real fast and brake hard to try and mess me up in any way, I'll put a couple of holes in your sister here...Now let's go."

Roddy tried his hand at gingerly pressing forth on the accelerator, but found that it wouldn't push the jeep forth until halfway down. And then it jerked the engine to go—and as it did, Roddy panicked and put on the brakes. The three occupants were jolted forth then back. Roddy's heart stopped, expecting to hear at least three bullet holes rip through his beloved sister. But none came.

" _Boy_..." the man hounded him.

"I'm sorry! I panicked a bit, please, I'm sorry—!"

"Just get it going!"

Roddy tried again, and experienced the same delayed reaction with the accelerator pedal, but compensated for it now by easing the forward momentum afterward.

And they were on their way out of town, Roddy as their very untried and shell-shocked driver.

Chapter 14

The ocean liner rested its massive structure in the Kensington Port as it was fed a steady stream of land-departing people from the connector ramp. Martha, Mary, and Mandy were among them, and were about to board the vessel.

"Wow, this is wonderful," marveled Mandy as she walked with her sisters and the flow of the crowd. "Look how big this sucker is; much more room to roam around in than a super-cramped airplane anyway."

"Yes," Martha agreed but then countered, "Unfortunately, it's going to take us a week to get back to the states, rather than just 48 hours."

"So what, it's not like we didn't have the time anyway."

"I suppose that's true."

Mary threw Martha a secret look that Mandy couldn't see. She mouthed, " _Boyfriend talk..._ " to her oldest sister, and the elder one nodded back in understanding and agreement.

Mary offered, "We'll keep each other busy, I'm sure...Lot's of things to do onboard, and lots to talk about."

"Oh, absolutely," Mandy concurred with brightness, but then clarified once more, "but remember our agreement now: no back home stuff. Strictly new and exciting things. Oh, this is gonna be fun."

Martha and Mary eyed each other with nervous tension; again, away from Mandy's notice.

And away from everyone's notice, on the opposite side of the boat from the rampway, two identical forms sprouted from the deep water. And immediately began snapping their arms and legs up the side of the ocean liner's iron hull. They were female in appearance with death-white skin and severe anorexic frames. The grayish, damp dresses they wore hugged their bodies and emphasized their skeletal forms.

But none of this hindered their lithe and lizard-quick progress up the side of the ship. And within seconds, they had hoisted themselves over the rails and disappeared from view. No one had seen them infiltrate the ship.

The three sisters found their cabin on board the boat and settled in, placing their personal items where they needed them. The room thankfully featured three beds, as well as a fairly spacious bathroom. Yet in terms of housing three people for a week's time, it was a bit cramped. And each woman secretly resolved to spend most of their stay roaming the boat or lounging on the decks.

Mandy was glancing at a brochure of all the features and events that they could experience on their cruise. " _Ooh,_ there's a show in the Excelsior Lounge tomorrow at 6 PM—dancing and singing. It's all classic show tunes!"

"Oh, nice," Mary enthusiastically commented.

"Martha, you don't have to go, I know you don't like all those song and dance numbers."

"Thank you," Martha replied emphatically as she placed her toiletries in the bathroom.

"What else is there?" Mary asked as she walked over to her younger sister to stare over her shoulder at the brochure.

Mandy went on, "There's also shuffleboard on the Promenade Deck annnnd...Bingo _also_ on that deck. You can also see a movie in their theater, hm..." Almost absently she mentioned, "...I wonder how much they pay to run a projector on a cruise liner..."

Martha eyed her youngest sister and asked with and undercurrent of disdain, "You wouldn't be wondering for yourself, would you?"

Mandy wrinkled her chin while pushing up her lower lip, as she shook her head once and said, " _No,_ no..."

Mary then asked, "You're not actually suggesting that your boyfriend get a projection job on board a ship, are you?"

"Well, he does wanna go in that direction...in film..."

Martha started up with, "Honey, that doesn't have anything to do with making it in the film business. And quite honestly, I don't see Kelly possessing the drive and dedication necessary to making it in that demanding field."

"You don't know that," Mandy defended with hurt pride.

"Quite frankly I do."

"Listen," Mary began, "this is something that Martha and I have been meaning to talk to you about. I know you didn't want us to bring up subjects of home, but—"

"Of course not," Mandy blurted, "because I knew you guys would bring out your snap judgments on someone I care about, and might one day possibly marry."

" _Please,_ honey, you can't be serious," Martha said.

"Well who are you two to decide how I feel about someone? I _am_ my own person, you know, I don't have to get your permission or approval on anything. Especially with the people I date."

"Honey, we recognize that completely," Mary assured, "It's just—we love you dearly, we don't want you making what is clearly a huge mistake in your life."

"You can't know that. I mean, does Kelly hit me like Sam did? Does he call me refrigerator because I have a bit of a weight problem, like Lenny did? No...what he does call me is 'darling' and 'sweetness' and 'massage goddess'—"

"Yes, he also _calls_ you constantly for rides because he has no car," Martha interjected.

"That's just temporary until he hits his stride."

Martha looked away while rolling her eyes and expelling a breath.

Mary, however, tried to smooth with, "Look, sweetie, if at some point in the future he really _does_ hit his stride, then you two should come back together and see if a healthy relationship can be had. But right now—"

"Right now he needs me...and I need him. You know, I'm not sure if you've recognized this or not, but I'm not as popular as you two are when it comes to guys—"

"Honey, you're beautiful, I wish you could see that—"

"But not as stunning as you two. I mean, you two practically _turn_ them away left and right!"

Martha swung back around to face Mandy once more. "Yeah, and you know why we've turned so many of 'em away? It's because most of them are after something other than respecting us! We've seen enough of Kelly's type and we know when it's time to move on!"

"Well I don't want to move on! I love Kelly and I believe in him! I think he's one of the most talented filmmakers I've ever seen!"

" _Mandy!_ There are a bajillion filmmakers out there trying to do the same thing he is!"

" _Yeah,_ that's right! And there are a bajillion people trying to do what Mary does too! And somehow she made it!"

"That's because your sister dedicated her time, energy, and winning creativity into it! I don't see that coming from your dear, sweet, ingratiating Kelly!"

"Well maybe you're just not LOOKING HARD ENOUGH!"

And with that, Mandy left the cabin, slamming the door shut behind her.

"Mandy!" Mary called after, but got no response from her younger sister. She turned to Martha and asked, "Should I go after her?"

"No," Martha suggested, "let her cool off. Her pride is just wounded, she'll come around."

"...I hope you're right."

Chapter 15

Thus far, the homeless and outreach for the abused organizations had been fairly cooperative in allowing Paul and Virg access to their grounds. After seven hours of searching four different facilities, the two detectives had turned up nothing in terms of locating Kenneth. And no administrative staff, employees, or volunteers had recognized the photo of the missing brother.

And the day was getting late; already it was 6:30 PM—an hour and a half past their knock-off time.

Yet there was one more outfit to check out in the immediate area—only two miles away from the place they just inspected. So both agreed to do this one last search before calling it a night. If it _was_ the place where Kenneth could be found, it would save the two another day of branching out from the station.

The establishment was known as _Soul Salvation,_ a last ditch sanctuary for victims of sexual abuse and domestic violence.

And its administrative head was a former recipient of parental molestation herself: 49-year-old severe-looking Betty Green. "Oh yes, that's Kevin..." she blurted upon staring at the photo the two showed her. "Wait..." She glanced closer at the photo. "...he does have a bit of a different look than this, but that has to be Kevin. He works in the kitchen—but he's not here today, apparently he's sick."

"How do you know he's sick?" Virg asked.

"Cammie is a friend of his, she's the one who told me he wouldn't be coming in."

"Do they hang out or live together?"

"They're not roommates—well, not per se. There's an abandoned warehouse where a lot of homeless people go at night to sleep."

"Do you know where it is?

"I've never been there myself, but I know the general location: Loughlin Heights."

"Where's this Cammie, is she here now?"

"Sure, hold on."

Betty left the front office to retrieve Cammie from the kitchen area, where she also worked. A few minutes later they had returned.

"Hi, Cammie, it's nice to meet you, I'm detective Virgil Banks and this is detective Paul Danford. We're from the state police department."

Cammie asked in a mousy voice, which seemed to match her appearance, "You're looking for Kevin? Did he do something?"

"Well, nothing really. It's just that it's very important that we ask him a few questions. Would he be at the warehouse now in Laughlin Heights?"

"Um, as far as I know. He was there this morning, so...and I don't think he would go somewhere else—unless the place was raided. But that doesn't happen very often anymore. The druggies mostly hang out at the old train station now."

Virg eyed Betty. "Mrs. Green, do you mind if we accompany Cammie here to the warehouse location? Time is of the essence in our investigation."

Betty turned to Cammie, who faced her back, "Cammie, are you comfortable with this?"

Cammie averted her gaze back to the two detectives. "You promise you're not going to hurt Kevin?"

Virg answered earnestly, "I _swear_ to you we just need some answers. In all frankness, ma'am, our true goal here is to find a young boy—and bring him back to his mother. And this Kevin may have some answers regarding the matter."

Cammie stared on at the detectives for a brief, studying moment, longer, then finally said, "All right."

And five minutes later, they were on the road again; the detectives in the front of Virg's squad car while Cam sat in the back, directing them to the warehouse location. Twenty minutes later, they had arrived at the massive and rundown looking complex building. A length of it ran almost a quarter mile.

The three entered and Cammie led them to the spot where Kenneth/Kevin normally lay his head for sleep. He was absent, but his stuff—his sleeping bag, lantern, and a few food snacks were present, marking his spot. Apparently, a good friend of his named Roger was guarding it for him. Roger was reading an old copy of a King novel when he noticed Cammie and the detectives. "Hey Cam, who are your fuzz friends? They looking for Kevin?"

Cammie moused out, "They just wanna ask him some stuff. Is he here still?"

"He's out doing a squat, should be back in here any minute."

That minute turned out to be now as a sidedoor slid open revealing Kenneth, his appearance somewhat altered from his photo—yet still clearly him.

Kenneth caught sight of the two detectives flanking Cammie...

...And ran back out into the expansive field beyond. Even for a sick man, his pace was rapid, furied.

Virg and Paul gave chase immediately, hopping over resting bodies and people's possessions to bound out of the sliding door Kenneth left open.

They pursued him with great haste through the long grain field, eventually running him down close enough to pull their .45's on the fleeing man. As they did, pointing them straight at their target, they yelled, " _Freeze,_ Kenneth! State police!"

Kenneth halted, knowing that he was had, and put his hands up above his head.

Chapter 16

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Mae Lin?" Avery responded to his youngest offspring as he was tucking her into bed.

"...I don't want you to do your speech tomorrow."

"It's not tomorrow, hon, it's the day after tom—"

"I don't want you to do it."

Avery stared studyingly at his demanding 6-year-old daughter for a brief moment, then said, "You're worried that something bad will happen to me."

She nodded quickly.

He went on, "Well listen...the world...can be a crazy place sometimes...Once in a while, people who don't think right want to hurt others...But that's not a reason for someone like me—someone who _does_ think clearly—to run and hide. It's my responsibility as a public servant to stand up to these kinds of people. And show them a more enlightened path—a _smarter_ way to handle things."

"Is that why you want to be president?"

"Well..." He chuckled a bit, "...let's not get ahead of ourselves, baby. I'm just running for _sen_ ator of New York—not leader of the free world."

"Oh, right. But please don't do the speech."

"Honey, I'm going to be all right, I promise. We're going to have a lot of people there to protect me from any bad stuff. It'll be fine, okay? You'll see."

"...Okay...but don't do it."

He breathed a small laugh at her singlemindedness and said, "I love you, sweetie, but it's time for you to sleep now." He kissed her forehead gently.

"Will you read me to sleep?"

"Sure." He grabbed a book—her favorite right now: _The Peculiar Penguin Visits the Eskimos_ —and opened it up to page one. He grabbed a chair nearby and sat at her bedside to begin reading.

Ten minutes later she was asleep, and Avery closed the book. He placed it back in the book rack that was filled with many other _Peculiar Penguin_ books, as well as other various series books. And gave Mae Lin one last peck on the forehead. He whispered, "Goodnight, sweet princess," and quietly exited the room.

But he was intercepted in the hallway with a hug and a kiss from his wife. After, she echoed, "I'm with the kid, don't do the speech."

Avery said, however, "Come on, Jinn, you know I have to."

"I know...but you're going to have double the security there, right?"

"Double for sure. You'll be watching on C-SPAN, won't you?"

"You know I never miss a speech...Your son...he also doesn't want you to do this event either."

"He told you this?"

She nodded. "He's just too proud to mention it to you..." She eyed him intensely. "...You know, I understand that you're an important public figure and all, but..." She took a breath, "...if anything were to happen to you—"

" _If_ anything were to happen to me, _you_ would go on. And you would still be an exceptional mother to our two children. That I know. You wouldn't crumble into a million pieces no matter how difficult it was."

"...So certain about that, are you?"

He brought her in for a tight embrace, then proclaimed, "I'm not going anywhere, nothing's going to happen to me."

"Oh, and how do you know this for certain?"

"Because, I'm indestructible. Haven't you heard the press?"

"You're a pompous ass, is what you are."

"Oh, clearly."

She laughed. And continued to hold him. But then her tone became serious again as she announced, "Thirty-four plane crashes so far."

Chapter 17

The next town that the man and the children encountered was a much larger stretch of buildings and homes. Villa San Tropez it was called, it was now a smoke and blazed nightmare with wreckage everywhere. No one had survived. The bodies—the ones that hadn't fallen into the earth—were strewn all over the town. Still, the man ordered the kids to search where supplies could be had.

Once done they drove out of town in the dark of night. Roddy was once again behind the wheel, hoping to God he didn't hit a rough patch of road in the shadowed surroundings.

There was not another town in sight for a good long while, and all were becoming too tired drive on. The man ordered Roddy to stop the jeep and kill the engine. Then he commanded something that made both children's blood run cold. "What's your name, boy?"

"R-Rodrigo...Roddy."

"Roddy, you stay in the jeep and sleep here." The man reached forth from the back and snatched the keys from the ignition, pocketed them. He sat back again. "Guard this vehicle with your life—or I'll beat you bloody then start in on your sister. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Good..." He turned to face the frightened girl. "You are coming with me, and sleeping in the same sleeping bag as me on the ground."

Celia hesitantly asked, "W-what about snakes?"

"There are no snakes in this area. And if there are, then don't upset them. Don't bother them, they won't bother you. Now come on, you're going to make sure the boy behaves while I'm asleep, yes? Grab the bag, it's a big one—plenty of room for two."

She did so, and followed him reluctantly but quietly to the spot he chose to layout on. He told her to lay the bag down and get in first. He then slid in beside her.

She despised being so close to this odorous scum.

He faced her as he lay next to her snug in the bag. "What is your name, girl?"

"Celia," she uttered but wished she hadn't.

"Celia...I am Gael. I was named after my father, who was a guerrilla fighter back in the 1980's. He was a fierce rebel, just like me."

She said nothing, thought of nothing for a reply.

"And he was loved by many women," he went on, "few could resist who he was..."

Terrifyingly, she stared back at him.

"...Don't try anything during the night. And you and your little brother will live through this...yes?"

She gazed away as she nodded in silence.

And he closed his eyes. Five minutes later he was snoring. And although Celia was indeed exhausted, she found it impossible to get to sleep for the next hour.

Chapter 18

Martha and Mary found it difficult to get to sleep, and it was only achieved in the late hours of the night. Mandy had not resurfaced to finally turn in or make any sort of peace with her sisters. This had the effect of unnerving the older two, and they worried about their youngest for hours.

On some level, they knew it wasn't right to interfere in Mandy's affairs. She should make her own mistakes and learn from them—the hard way if necessary.

They just hoped that Mandy wasn't out getting sloshed and into more trouble than she could handle. That was the main thing that robbed them of their sleep.

Three hours after Martha finally nodded off, she was awoken again by Mary. "Martha... _Martha..."_

" _What?_ "

"Mandy is still not back yet."

"She's an adult, she can stay up all night if that's what she wants."

"Yes, I know but—"

Abruptly, the door to the cabin burst open and Mandy raced in to frantically eye her sisters. They, in turn, instantly bounded up and stood to face her as well.

Mandy exploded, "There are some wacked out, scary fricken twins on board this ship!"

"What are you talking about?!" Martha barked.

"These twin girls! These— _freaky,_ drugged-up looking, corpse smelling women! They're walking around the ship, scaring the crap out of everyone! One of 'em spit in my eye! And now I can't see right out of it! I mean, _what the hell?!_ "

"Well what are the security people doing about it?!" Mary asked, flustered.

"Oh, _well_ , here's the thing about _that_! Four guys with guns and batons tried to grab 'em; but these girls, they just spat in their eyes and mouths, then grabbed _them_! And _threw_ them! And I mean _farrr_ across the room!"

"Good lord..."

"These chicks have got to be high on PCP, cocaine, and meth all in the same pop! One of the guys got up and shot at them! But God Almighty in heaven—and I swear to you both I am not exaggerating—these girls didn't even feel it—they didn't even _bleed_! They're still roaming around out there for all I know!"

And then Mandy turned to lock eyes with the cabin door...and rush to it to close it shut and lock it with haste. She backed away from the door and jerked her hand to her eye. " _Dammit,_ what is wrong with my eye?! It keeps blacking out...and bluring..."

In the next instant, fast thudding footfalls came near, from outside in the hall. They halted, then a man's muffled voice hollered, "Get away from us, you damn cokehead! Stop following us!!!" A woman's equally drowned out voice cut in, "Don't let her spit on you!!!" And the pounding footstep raced on.

" _My God_..." Martha uttered in shock.

"It's insanity out there," Mandy cried, "I don't know if these girls are human—"

Mandy's body suddenly went insane with bucking and flailing. She spouted clips of incoherency. She lost her balance and was heading for a crash into the wall.

But Mary and Martha were madly quick and caught her before she hit. Martha, however, got swatted in the face by Mandy's whipping arms. She endured it and kept a firm hold on her baby sister. "Get her arms!"

Mary got them by the wrists after a small struggle and stabilized them.

They couldn't, however, stop Mandy's spats of gibberish and body shivering.

"Mandy! _Mandy_!" Martha barked, "Can you tell us what is happening to you?!"

The tremoring woman managed a "no" shake of the head. "...Hel...help...me!"

"We're trying, sweetie! Are you having a seizure?!"

"D-d-dd-don't kn...kn..."

"Okay, okay, don't try to speak anymore! Mary! In the bathroom in my bag, I have some Valium! Let's see if we can get her to swallow some!"

"Hug her tight so she doesn't hit you again!" Mary yelled.

Martha did so, and the middle sister let go of the arms—which instantly launched into more wild flails. But Martha was firmly latched to Mandy's torso so she couldn't catch the worst of the swings.

Mary raced to the bathroom, quickly rummaged through Martha's bag, and came back with the vile of Valium. She opened it and palmed two pills. She then pinched the pills with her thumb and pointer finger to bring them up close to Mandy's shaking mouth. "Mandy, swallow if you can! Try not to choke, baby!"

They were put in Mandy's mouth, and it was all she could do to not swallow down the wrong way. The others could see the quite difficult swallowing process.

"You did it, Mandy! Good going, sweetie!" Mary encouraged.

But the effect they were hoping for wouldn't come for another thirty minutes, maybe more.

And in that time, the older sisters would simply have to hold Mandy tight until something changed.

If it even would at all.

Chapter 19

Kenneth sat in the interrogation room behind a plain table, looking pale and sick. He kept snorting to hold the runny mucous back. Paul and Virg sat opposite him, on the table's other side, facing their suspect.

"Well, I guess it was just a matter of time before someone caught up to me," Kenneth started.

"So," Virg said, "explain to us exactly why you felt the need to go off the grid, Kenneth."

"...Because...I, uh...did something I'm not too particularly proud of." His eyes went down and zigzagged.

"Would this be possibly something to do with your sister?"

"...You could say that."

"We saw the paternity test, Kenneth. We know that you fathered a son with your sister."

"...Mikey...How is he?"

"Well, you would know, wouldn't you, Kenneth? You're the one who took him away from his mother quite recently—"

Instantly, Kenneth bolted to high alert in his eyes and posture. "Someone took him?!"

It appeared to be such a genuine reaction to the news. But Paul and Virg had seen convincing acting from sociopaths before.

Paul entered in with, "You're honestly implying that you had no idea that your son slash nephew was missing?"

"NO! Good God, when was he taken?!"

"Four days ago...but you know that already, don't you, Kenneth?"

Kenneth burst into tears as he exploded, "Stop _saying_ that! Listen to me! And understand—I would never do anything to cause that boy distress! Not with everything that he already has to deal with! With his father dying—"

" _You're_ his father, Kenneth," Virg reminded him.

"You know what I mean! His adoptive father, the one Mikey knew _as_ his father...And everything with my sister, of course—"

"Well you seem responsible for that, now don't you?"

"Responsible for her overall mental state?" Kenneth laughed. "Oh no, you can thank our folks for that little lifetime present. I'll take responsibility for bringing Mikey into the world, but I won't sit here and be blamed for what those two did to her mind."

"Well then, just what _did_ they do to her mind?"

"...Ever heard of an organization known as Green Sky?"

Both detectives shook their heads.

"No, of course you wouldn't, you're not from Montana. Green Sky is a supposed 'haven' for the 'spiritually enlightened'. Really, all they are is a cult—and a pretty nasty one at that. And most of my family happens to be members of it. As a rule, no one in the congregation is supposed to talk about what goes on there, but..." His eyes went intense. "...one of the requisites of Green Sky is that the members stay within a certain group of trust...Family members _stay_ with family members, and no one is allowed to... _fraternize_ with anyone outside the family, let alone outside the group. And heaven help you if you try to leave."

"But _you_ left—you and your sister," Paul insinuated correctly.

"Yeah, we left...But our parents and most of our family stayed. Then my sister met her husband, a navy seal and all that, and the three of us moved here. And for months they were trying to get pregnant—but nothing came of it. Then the World Trade Center fell, and he was shipped off to Afghanistan. But _before_ he leaves, they try one more to knock her up...But the day after he leaves, she comes to me..."

Paul filled in the blanks with, "And you two are intimate."

With shameful weight in his eyes, Kenneth nodded.

"But _why_ exactly?" Virg asked, "You were away from all that, why start it up again?"

Kenneth spoke gravely, "Because for a long time it was all we knew. We grew up in it. We knew it was wrong...but she was so...deeply distraught over her husband having to go away for who knows how long, maybe for good...I thought she might...I mean, she kept telling me how she didn't think she could go on and..."

"So you guys took solace in each other," Paul offered, his tone more understanding now.

Kenneth averted his gaze down.

"But her husband _did_ come back just a few months later, didn't he?"

"Yeah..."

"And when he came back, she was pregnant," Virg added.

"That's right, she was. But we didn't know for sure who the father was at the time. But my sister and I thought it best..."

"To just assume it was hers and her huband's so that they could be—"

"A _family_...a _real_ family...and not some perverted..." His face crumpled in bitter tears.

"But then Iraq happened—and her husband didn't make it out of that one," Virg explained.

"...Right...And then our family shows up for his funeral—surprise, surprise! And that's when I knew I had to disappear...'go off the grid' as you put it."

"Hasn't been easy, has it? Living on the street."

"It's been okay...I get to volunteer at the shelter, help people...not feel like my life is a pointless joke..."

"Kenneth—I'm afraid I have to ask: do you think these Green Sky people might have taken Michael?"

"NO...I can see where you might think that, but no."

"Why not?" Paul asked.

"Because they want their members to achieve 'enlightenment'...and they don't consider the mentally challenged types as being able to accomplish that. They think that those people have been cursed by dark agents of hell...Enlightened, right?"

"Well okay, Kenneth, if you didn't take him, and Green Sky didn't, who do think might have?"

"I don't know..." And Kenneth buried his face in his hands. "...Perhaps no one did."

"What do you mean by that?"

"...I mean...I haven't seen my sister in eight years...She hasn't remarried or anything?"

"No."

"...Then she's been alone all that time...with a severely autistic boy to raise...and not much mental stability of her own to hold on to..."

Paul got it and said, "You think it's possible that she may have took Michael somewhere and left him there?"

"No...maybe...God, I hope not." Finally, he lifted his head from his hands and stared at the detectives. "But if it _is_ true, then you've got to find him quick. Because I don't think he could make it on his own."

Chapter 20

Celia woke up in the morning with wanting eyes staring back at her. She was still in the sleeping bag quite close to the owner of those dark eyes. Who knows how long he had been awake and gazing at her. She had to look away.

He said, "My father used to say, the best way to wake up in the morning is to have something delicious for breakfast..."

It became hard for her to breathe. She glanced back into his ferrety eyes with dread. She began to shake.

"Now, not to worry, young Celia. If we keep it quiet, we won't be waking your brother, hm?"

She squeaked in fear, tears shimmered her eyes.

"Sweet girl, shhh...we'll start out gentle...hm...?" And he slowly started kissing her cheeks and forehead. As he did, her eyes bunched shut in pure disgust. She silently cried.

He drew her closer—and because of this she could now feel a stiff swelling from the groin area of his pants. And her mind screamed, _NO! Oh dear God, NO! Not this monster as my first! Not this demon!_

He was caressing her, roving his hands all over. Soon his mouth opened wide and he was licking pressingly on her cheek and neck. She wanted to vomit, was afraid she would, and that it would anger Gael, whose father was such an inspiration to him...

He began undoing his pants, pulling them down. The action was causing a bit of noise, and Gael glanced at the jeep, at the boy, to see if he was stirring. Roddy was turned away from them; for all the man knew, the boy was still asleep.

Now he started undoing her jeans, pulling them down around her knees. Horrid fear kept her from fighting back. He positioned himself on top of her, and began to grind himself upon her lower region. Yet he had not removed his _or_ her underwear.

It was all she could do to not scream in terror and disgust. But she didn't want Roddy to see this, didn't want him to ever know.

Gael began slowly, deeply panting.

She pleaded whisperingly, sobbingly, "Please...please don't—"

"Shhhhhhh..." he gave back between heaves of pleasured breathing. "...shhhhh..."

And then it happened: a mosquito-like shrill zipped through the air, cutting the wind—and spearing an instant hole through the side of Gael's cranium. Blood exploded from the new opening and the man belched, "HUNGD!" and then, "GAH!" as a spit of blood hit Celia's face.

And finally, with all the air in her lungs, she screamed.

The shrieking jerked Roddy awake and up. He spun to face his sister. "Celia?!"

Then distant footsteps came near, with boots that crunched gravel with each step.

Both children turned their heads to the approaching sounds and the one making them.

It was a woman. She had dark, shoulder length hair, parted in the middle. Her clothes consisted of a beige tank top and khaki pants—along with military style boots. Cross-hanging around shoulders and torso were belts of ammunition. In addition, she wore a belt across her waist, which kept a holstered handgun and extra ammo clips. And in her grasp was a compact sniper's rifle, a thick tube of a cylinder was attached to muzzle of the weapon.

She came ever closer then halted casually about ten feet away from the scene. And calmly spoke at the corpse, "Sure as shit you won't be raping again."

The kids were stunned, neither could move from their positions. Though for Celia it had to do more with physical difficulty—Gael's body weighted heavily on top of her. The woman marched over to her and shoved the dead heap off the girl with her hardened boot.

She looked down upon the shocked, bloody faced girl and asked, "You okay, sweetheart?"

Celia managed a jittery nod. The woman extended a hand down to her, an offer to help her up. Celia grabbed it and together they pulled her up and onto her feet.

"I'm Marta," the woman revealed, "Your names are?"

Both kids gave their names.

"I'm from Juarez, where are you two from?"

They told her.

"We're a long way from our homes," Marta said, "But then mine no longer exists. What about yours?"

"The same," Roddy said.

"I saw a man leaving my town after it was destroyed."

"We saw him too."

"Do you know who he is?"

"No."

"But we know he is the one who caused everything to happen," Celia offered up.

Marta grimaced in suspicion, "How?"

The siblings stared at each other uneasily. Then Celia turned back at the woman and said, "With his blood."

Ten minutes later, they were driving, Marta now at the wheel. They were heading for the American border. The siblings were seated in the back. Marta explained, "I was visiting my cousin in Cortez. I rode my motorbike back to the city and...I swear I'd never seen anything like it. I mean the ground was opened up all over the place...but only in the city limits, nothing outside. It's as if the town itself was targeted to be destroyed. And _no one_ survived—not one single person."

"It was like that for us too," Celia admitted as she was wiping her face with a damp cloth, trying to clear the blood away. "No one lived...The opening up of the ground...it came for us too, but—"

" _Yes,_ for me too! I saw the man with his hood walking out of town, and when I looked back, I saw that the ground was cracking open, splitting up right in front of me...but it stopped right at my feet...Was it like that for you?"

"Almost...It stopped a few feet away from us," Roddy said.

"It stopped," Celia added, "Right in front of a small puddle of blood...Roddy's blood."

"...Well..." Marta finally said, "...I don't know if it was fate that we happen to run into each other, but I'm sure glad I met with people who believe my story...Who was that _man_ you were with? I sure hope he wasn't a relative of yours—"

" _Oh no,_ " Roddy emphasized, "he was not with us. He was part of a group of men with guns, rebels maybe."

"Well I'm guessing you don't mind that I killed him."

"Not at all. The man was a pig, right, Celia?"

Celia had a scowl. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"You don't have to," Marta assured. "I think our best bet would be to head for the border."

"That's where we were heading," Roddy offered enthusiastically.

"As far as the jeep can take us anyway. Then we might have to walk or try another vehicle."

"Do you think America will be just as bad as here?"

"I hope not...because this land is dead."

Chapter 21

Mandy had finally fallen asleep. For hours she had to be held down by her sisters—who took turns every hour at the job. The shaking and convulsions were terrible with the youngest sister. Scarcely could she eke out a coherent word to communicate to her sisters. It was particularly traumatic when they had to get her into the bathroom to pee. And the urine took at least twenty minutes to finally evacuate entirely.

But now that Mandy was out, Martha and Mary felt they could now have a breather and discuss what to do next.

"Have you seen her do this before?" Martha asked.

"No," Mary replied, "Never. I think she might have been infected with something when she got spit in her eye."

"If that's true then it's something seriously fast acting. But what could it possibly be?"

"I have no idea, I'm not a disease specialist."

"Well I'd love to check up on the net to find out but nothing's working out here. I can't get anyone on the phone to get a doctor in here—and I'm certainly not going outside this cabin to search for one."

"So what do we do with her?"

"We could keep giving her Valium until we run out, and hope someone is coming for her, for the passengers. But then again no one might."

Creeks of iron structures muffled throughout the room...Was the ship sinking? Breaking apart? Both?

"I don't like the sound of that..." Mary commented nervously.

"Neither do I."

Outside the room, someone was furiously running by.

"This ship is in big trouble."

"Yeah...we're gonna have to get off this thing."

Chapter 22

_Knock! Knock!_ Paul pounded on Delia's door. And she answered it. "Hello."

"Mrs. Carson, may we come in for a bit?" Virg asked.

"Do you have some news about my boy?"

"Possibly. May we?"

"Sure." She allowed them in.

And again, everyone sat in the living room. "What have you found out?" she asked.

"...Well, I'm sad to say, as you might have guessed, we haven't found Michael...but we did find someone who may have shed some light on the whole case."

"Mrs. Carson, what can you tell us about your brother?" Paul asked.

She froze for a brief moment, before answering, "What would you like to know?"

"Can you tell us why he's gone off the grid for the last eight years?"

"Um...well he couldn't adjust after we moved here. Truthfully, I haven't spoken to him in a long time."

"So there wasn't any specific incident that might have brought on his disappearance from official record?"

"...I'm not sure what you mean."

"Well specifically," Virg added, "we're referring to a particular test result that your brother was a participant in..."

She blinked rapidly, repeatedly—but remained silent, waiting.

"It was a paternity test, Mrs. Carson," Paul revealed. "And it says that he is, in fact, the father of Michael, not your husband."

For a minute the two detectives stared at her, and she back at them. Tension was thick in the air.

Finally, however, she spoke. "Yes, it's true. Kenneth is Mikey's father...probably why Mikey is the way he is...Especially proud of yourselves that you know my personal and sordid business?"

"Mrs. Carson, we didn't come here to embarrass you, we are really just trying to piece things together here—"

"And I appreciate that, I really do," she said tensely, "but don't you think you should be _out there_ somewhere piecing it together? I have nothing more that I can help you with here beyond what I have already explained—and twice, I might add."

"We understand that, Mrs. Carson, but unfortunately we have more that we need to ask you regarding your family. Now please, if we could keep the meeting calm and collected, then I think we can get to the bottom of some things...okay?"

She blinked a few times in nervousness, frustration, then took a breath. "...Fine."

"Good, thank you. Now...I'm afraid we have to discuss an organization with which you and your brother were—"

"Green Sky, yes—Kenneth and I escaped that madness."

"But the rest of your family is still involved to this day."

"To my shame, yes."

"Now excuse me if I bring up a rather sensitive time in your life, but we have to go over this—at your husband's funeral, your family showed up to attend...Can you recall any of the conversations that you had with them at that time?"

"...They expressed their condolences, of course."

"...Kenneth led us to believe that the members of Green Sky looked very unfavorably on people leaving their organization. 'Heaven help anyone who tries to leave' I believe were his exact words. Did your family apply any sort of pressure on you when they visited... _were_ there any threats, is what I'm trying to get at?"

"You mean did they threaten to take Mikey away from if I didn't come back?"

"Did they?"

"... _No._ And I'm sorry Kenneth gave you the impression that they would be that cruel to their ex-members."

"But no threats whatsoever to try and make you return?"

"No," she stressed, "My family...they are who they are...but that doesn't mean they don't love me, or that I don't love them."

"...It's Kenneth's impression that Green Sky didn't take Mikey either...he mention something to the effect that they consider someone like Mikey to be...well, an affront to their spiritual goals...Now Delia, you got free of a very oppressive situation...But you were also exposed to that way of life from a very early and impressionable age. It's not hard to imagine that kind of indoctrination having an underlying and lasting effect on someone...Mrs. Carson, did they ever try to make you think for a second, possibly, that Mikey was a spiritual punishment for leaving the group?"

She looked horrified, disgusted at the suggestion. "...I can't believe you would say something like th—Is this the end of your questioning? Because I hope it is—"

"Mrs. Carson, please, I'm sorry for suggesting such a horrible thing—"

"I hope you are. Listen, is it possible you two could leave now? I'm really rather disturbed by these questions. I asked for your help, not insults and humiliation."

"Very soon we'll go," Virg said as he and Paul rose from the couch to stand. "But there is one more point related to the case that I'm afraid we must cover before leaving. Your brother mentioned something else which made us question your version of the events of the night of disappearance."

"Oh, and what did my dear brother who hasn't been around in forever say?"

" _Well,_ he suggested that it could be _you_ who might be responsible for your son's disappearance. I mean, if we're dealing semantics, it does fit—there was no forced entry, and none of the neighbors heard any suspicious noises."

Now she stood up with furied eyes. "I think it's time for you two to leave. And I don't want to talk to you two again. Not unless you've found my boy." And she said no more, merely stood rigidly, awaiting the detectives' departure. In the next instant, the two men headed for the door.

Driving back to the station, Virg and Paul talked over their strategy with confronting Delia, and her resulting reactions. Virg opened with, "Well, I know what I think, but what do you think?"

"I think she's guilty. I think that cult jacked up her mind too much. I think Kenneth was right."

"I think the exact same thing. Now how to prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt."

"Well I think we should put a few local boys on stakeout around her. See if she has a change of heart, and goes to retrieve the boy. And if she does, we got her on child endangerment."

"But who though? You wanna tap Deke's team? That could get costly—even if he _is_ a good friend and all."

"Wellll...not if we suggest a trade. I know Deke's going to be working the councilman's next speech event tomorrow. If we fill in for them, maybe they'll—"

"Fill in for us, I see...hm...all right, let's call him."

"Got it," Paul agreed as he pulled out his phone.

Chapter 23

AARRREEEYAAARUUNK!

The muffled and disturbing sounds of grinding metal howled yet again throughout the cabin of the three sisters. Each time it occurred it made them feel as if the ocean liner was going to drown them or crush them flat.

Mandy had finally awaken, and was a bit more coherent and in control of her faculties. But they could tell that the affliction had not abated completely.

"I think we're going to have to try and make it to a lifeboat," Martha announced in both fear and resolution.

"If there are any left," Mary sobered.

"And how...do we do that...without running into those...maniac girls?" Mandy managed as best she could.

"They can't be everywhere on this thing," Martha rationalized, "And even cokeheads have to sleep eventually."

"I...I...don't think...they're coke...heads..."

"...She may be right," Mary agreed with lessening disbelief. "I mean, Martha, listen to what's happening to this ship...I think Mandy may have hit on something when she said they weren't human..."

"Oh, come on," Martha stressed, "One problem isn't necessarily related to the other."

"No, but it _is_ incredibly convenient that they're happening at the same time, you have to admit."

"Odd, yes. Supernatural or alien? Let's not loose our heads here. In any case, despite the real dangers out there, we have to take the chance—and walk out that door. And if we can't find a lifeboat, then maybe there's a radio transmitter on the bridge of this thing that still works."

"Just...just...cover..." Mandy tried with increasing difficulty, "...your...f-f-f...HUTIG!" And she went berserk again with convulsions, flailings.

The older sisters attempted to stabilize her again with bodily embrace and more Valium pills. But it was now an impossibility—Mandy was worse. Now her eyes were rolling up white, and blood ran from the corner of her mouth. The result of biting her tongue.

"Mandy!!!" Mary shouted in hysterics.

"Mandy, fight for control!!!" Martha roared in panic.

But it was of no use. Mandy was too far gone now.

_Suddenly,_ the corner section of the cabin farthest from the sisters groaned harshly and terrifyingly warped itself inward—almost as if it were consciously looking to close space on the women.

Mary screamed.

Martha hollered, "Oh my _God_!"

The warping, pushing of the cabin structure ceased a few feet from them. And their attention was immediately brought back to Mandy.

Who was deteriorating before their widened stares. Her eye—the one that got spat on—became grayish and dimpled, fluid oozed from a split in the cornea."

"NO, oh dear God..." Mary uttered in horror.

Martha only watched her youngest sister in frozen disbelief.

Mandy's shakes and bucks were dying down, becoming sporadic. A deep rattle came out of her; she was bottoming out...

"...Mandy...?" Mary tried, sobbing.

And then the afflicted woman's jittery and jerking movements ceased altogether. A final breath whistled out of her lungs. And Mandy was gone.

"...This can't be happening..." Mary cried, "...this can't be happening, this can't be HAPPENING!" She shook the lifeless Mandy.

But Martha pulled her away from the leaking corpse, hollering, "No, Mary! Don't let any of it get on you!"

As Martha yanked Mary away, Mandy fell slack to the floor. Mary shrieked, "NO!" mostly out of shock of seeing her baby sister plop to the carpet rather than be eased down. And instead of struggling against Martha's pulling, she swung about to hug Martha tight. " _No,_ no, no, no..."

Martha squeezed Mary just as firmly, clamping her eyes shut briefly, but then belted, "Mary, stop—we have to go _now_!"

Mary pulled her head back to face Martha, "But we can't just _leave_ her here, we have to take—"

"No, we can't, we need to move quickly!" Already, Martha was preparing them to stand and head briskly for the door.

"I hate you right now..."

"I don't like myself either right now, dammit—but you know I'm right!"

Another warping wrenched the structure of the room! It grew dangerously toward altering the shape of the door!

"Now!" Martha ordered, and they unlocked the door, opened it up wide, and quickly left the room. Neither dared to glance back at their baby sister.

The corridors of the ocean liner seemed abandoned thus far to Martha and Mary. Nevertheless they proceeded with a trot of caution. They held onto each other in fear, emotional support. Both thought that the other might collapse in distress at any moment.

They rounded a corner—and witnessed what they had heard only a few seconds before.

A mother and her little boy. They were hunched to the floor, nestled in what appeared to be a cratered incline of the walling and floor.

The mother was sobbing inconsolably as she held her seizing, frothing-mouthed child.

Petrified, the sisters plodded forth, holding each other closer as they passed the horrid sight. The mother didn't even acknowledge them as they hurried by, didn't seem to care that the women were moving on.

Further on through the now oddly shaped corridors, the sisters came upon their second scene of distress. A group of six men were taking turns beating and tossing one another hard into the walls. And they _were_ taking turns. One would stop his actions and allow his opponent to perform the same injury on him. Occasionally, the opponents would alternate between other opponents. All were bruised and bloody.

One of the men happened to notice the sisters for an instant. And bellowed, "Help us! We can't stop!" Then he resumed his attack. Blood flew with the hits.

Martha happened to notice on the wall beyond the men a sign that read: Elevator and Stairs This Way.

They would have to get by the battling men if they were to reach the top decks, and find a lifeboat. If one was even available at this point.

But first things first. "We have to get through them, Mary," Martha explained tensely. "It's our only way up."

"I know...Here..." Mary separated herself from Martha and took off her sweater.

The older woman got it—and took off her own sweater. Both now draped them over their heads—to shield them from the infected blood.

"Come on," Martha said, fearful but resolved, "we can do this. Just watch their legs and keep your head low."

"Yeah, and then what?" Mary asked nervously.

"Prayer."

"Right."

And they began moving forth again, both looking as if they were trying to hide from nonexistent rain.

They got dangerously close to the group of men. Both women recoiled as much as they tried to proceed, attempting to time their entrance into the gauntlet.

Martha saw an opening and stepped into it a few feet, then stopped as that was as far as she could go. She hollered and covered her head even more. A few drops of blood landed on her sweater, dirtying the white fabric. She caught sight of another opening in the craziness of moving bodies, and raced through it to stop another foot or two.

Now Mary leapt forward in her own window of progress in between the battling men. And like Martha, had to stop only a few feet as the men quickly closed the gap again. She squealed in terror.

"Help us... _please_!" a man yelled in desperation, "Don't leave us!"

The opening came again for Martha, and she carefully bounded through it. And she was now past the men! She quickly turned to gage her sister's progress.

Mary saw another opportunity to leap forth—and took it. But just then, an unexpected alternation of attack occurred—and it knocked Mary into the wall. Blood quickly dotted her protective sweater—dangerously close to the edge of it, and her face! She oofed, then oofed harder as a flung body slammed against her, pinning her to the wall before crumpling her to the floor.

"Mary!" Martha screamed, then cautiously leapt back into the chaotic struggle. She knelt down quickly and grabbed her sister while keeping her sweater over her head. "Come on! Up!"

A bloodied man fell to the floor right beside the women. They glanced frightfully at each other. He yelled, "You cank gus weave us!" in fat-lipped desperation.

Martha yanked Mary up and swept her away from the scene; rounding a corner, they didn't look back.

The sisters were halfway up the stairs when something bizarre occurred: the ceiling and the stair structures suddenly and loudly swelled in toward each other.

"My God!" Mary howled as the instant constriction happened before them.

"Careful!" Martha barked and threw a bracing arm across Mary's chest.

"Good Lord, Mar, this thing is trying to kill us."

"Something tells me it's nothing personal; everything is going ape on this boat. Come on, we can still make it through the corner of it..."

And so they did, though awkwardly and cumbersomely. The triangular gap barely allowed them passage beyond.

The door to the third deck slowly inched open to reveal Martha and Mary as they cautiously glanced around. The sights and sounds were not encouraging. There were near and distant screams, and babblings of incoherency. People were running this way and that in a charging frenzy. It was as if a civil riot was in progress on the open air level of this expansive deck.

"Mary..." Martha started, "...keep your cover up."

"No problem," Mary wholly agreed.

And they slowly, vigilantly opened the door wider to trot forth across the now uneven deck. Both could see through the cross-sprinting people that the deck rail was oddly bent. One more sign that it wasn't just the people who were succumbing to the viral chaos.

As they traveled on to try and reach a lifeboat, another shocking structural upheaval occurred: the deck flooring ten feet aside from the sisters burst upward with startling noise. The cause of the eruption instantly revealed itself to be a long stretch of stairwell. It sprouted upwards of about twenty feet, spraying shards of wooden deck everywhere.

Both women had turned away to block their faces from the shrapnel. But after, they glanced back around at the ship's new injury.

And what was to now spit itself up from the jagged rupture.

A twin. A freakish being that, like most things that were occurring on the boat, was an illogical reality.

The terror wildly looked all about, without a real focus. Its mouth yawned wide and a shrilling sound like white noise came droning out.

It finally found a lock on something with its eyes, however, on two individuals.

Martha and Mary.

The sisters' blood ran cold. But they didn't keep their gaze on the girlish wretch for long. They backed away and ran as fast as they could without whacking into another person.

The twin pounded after them, streaming another holler of white noise.

Mary swung a look behind her as she and Martha ran fiercely, and saw that they were being pursued. "It's after us!"

Martha ordered loudly, "Don't look back! Don't look at her!"

Mary complied and kept pace with her sister. Both held their sweaters over their heads. They could hear the shout of white noise emitting from the skeletal thing preying after them.

"Oh my _God_...!" Mary uttered in reaction.

"Keep running!" Martha howled.

The girl was gaining on the women. She would overtake them in seconds. It sounded a shrill of white noise yet again, signaling it was closer...

A corner structure was ahead, and the chase was nearing it rapidly. And as the sisters reached its edge, two new runners—a man and a woman—rushed into view from behind the corner. And smacked right into Martha and Mary. The crash caused all of them to fall to the deck floor, the man and woman landing on top.

The twin halted before the fallen mass and howled wide-eyed with another atonal shriek.

The top two whipped their heads up to gaze frighteningly at the pale monster above them. "Oh _God_ , it's found us!" screamed the woman. "Cover your face!" barked the man. Both did so just as the twin spat gray saliva at the two. They barricaded their faces just in time.

But then the maniac reached down and yanked them into the air above and before it. They still attempted to shield their faces as much as possible, yet the twin swung both of them to smash into the side wall. The impact jarred their senses and they became ragdolls in its grasp. They stared punch-drunk at their unnatural assailant.

It spat at them repeatedly into their eyes and mouths. The man and woman both shuddered and groaned in revulsion.

When the girl finished, she slammed them into the wall again and then released them to fall limply. It stared down at them briefly and shrieked its white noise. Then it whipped about to focus her sights on the sisters again.

But they were gone now, obviously loathed to stick around and watch the unfortunate couple become infected. Or wait for their turn.

The boney thing bounded forth in search of more targets.

"There are supplies in the lifeboat, Martha," Mary announced, "Food, drink, and first aid."

They had quickly found the inflatable unit in the emergency storage area and released the seal to fill it fat with air. The raft almost instantly unfolded to take full blowup shape, and as it did they hastily pushed it to the edge of the ship and its now warped railing. Once there, they shoved the raft and the supplies tethered to it overboard. Then they, themselves, jumped off and into the water. Both women found their way onto the lifeboat as Mary gave her assessment of the supplies.

Martha had replied with, "Yeah, but only a few days' worth, if we push it."

"Maybe somebody put out a distress signal, though."

"Maybe..."

The two said no more for a while after that. They merely sat there, and stared back at the ocean liner. Watched as it further misshaped itself in what, both women assumed, would be the vessel's eventual destruction and sinking.

And listened to the screams.

Chapter 24

Surprisingly, after the incident that occurred with Avery's last speech event, a generous amount of people were in attendance for his latest speaking engagement. The room was packed, in fact, and showed no signs of thinning out. They were, of course, there to see what Avery had to say about the state of growing public disruptions and disturbances. But they were also curious to see his reactions to being attacked by some maniac child.

The beefed up security team interspersed among the scene were there, naturally, to see that no attack of any kind took place. Paul and Virg were among them, having cleared the trade of men with Deke—two of his for the proposed stakeout in exchange for the detectives' presence here.

Paul was once again working the crowd while Virg helped in doubling the security back stage. In five minutes, Avery would take the stage; the buzz of the audience was steady, anticipatory.

"You know, you can still cancel, Ave," his PR consultant told the city councilman as they stood backstage.

"You can't be serious," Avery said back to her. "I can't believe I'm hearing you say that. Shouldn't you be telling me that canceling would be career suicide?"

"And maybe it would be, but things are getting so damn crazy. It's like it's escalating on a daily basis. Airports are shutting down, _railways_ are shutting down, people are scared to leave their homes—even to go to work or the store."

"Well, the people out there seem pretty brave—" He pointed to the stage in reference to the crowd beyond it. "—if they've come to hear me speak, I'm going to speak."

"Ave, how many of those people are here for the speech, and how many of those people are here to try and take you out? This is serious, things are devolving at an alarming rate—or are you not keeping up with the news feeds?"

"I agree that times are grim, but that's why we need to show our strength, our willingness to stand up to terrorist actions—"

"That's just it though—I'm not so sure it _is_ a terrorist plot anymore. I mean, look at the situation so far: _no one_ has claimed responsibility for these global incidents. And someone _always_ claims responsibility, you _know_ that. And even the extremist communities have been hit with these bizarre occurrences. South America has been pretty much decimated."

"So what are you suggesting, that it's the end of days here?"

" _Maybe_...maybe..."

Avery threw her a look of _come on, get real._ "Look, _someone_ is responsible for this—they've tainted the water supply with something, set off seismic charges to cause structural and ground damage. And it's probably some new extremist global organization that's not interested in recognition for their actions. But it _is_ manmade, not some biblical prophecy come to life. Now come on, pull it together, you know I depend on you to be solid. So let's get out there and turn the tide, it's what people rely on us for, right?"

"Actually, I thought we were in it to achieve fame and notoriety. Have we not been on the same page this whole time?"

"Oh, we can have that too...by saving the day. See ya in an hour." And he lightly slapped her on the shoulder for encouragement, then headed toward the stage.

And as he emerged from behind the stage curtain and exposed himself to the audience, they cheered his arrival. He waved exuberantly at them as he continued toward the centered podium. When he reached it and stood behind it, he spoke into its microphone: "Thank you...thanks, thank you for coming out." The cheers and applause died down and he launched into, "It speaks volumes that you've all come here despite the dangers we all face. It seems there are those out there who wish to poison the world—and we know these catastrophic events are happening all around the globe, not just in the U.S. And these people, they want to hide in the shadows, and act as bringers of death and destruction. In some of the most clever and chaotic ways possible. But we are not deterred, are we?"

A roar of cheers and applause erupted. Soon, it subsided and Avery spoke on. "Unity is our greatest asset..."

The old one of leathered skin entered by the side entrance of the Corman Amphitheater and casually approached the security agent watching the hall.

"Can I help you, sir?" the agent guardedly asked him.

The aged man drew in a deep breath, then let it flow out with, "Nooooooo..."

The agent was blown in the face by the man's toxic wind—and almost immediately went into a state of confusion. In the next instant, the poor soul knew not who or where he was. Or what he was doing in the hall in the first place. Uncertainty took over his face, and soon he faltered to the ground in a stupor of unknowing.

The old man took no further notice of the agent and walked on toward the lobby. Where a ceiling air vent was featured. He would soon breathe into it with generous blows from his tainted lungs. But first he would have to find a ladder from the maintenance room.

"...And I ask you, do we lay down so easily in our darkest hours?" Avery put to the crowd, "Or do we show these vile cowards who hide in the shadows of our great world who we _truly_ are? Human beings who cherish life, and therefore possess a soul worth having. Join me in the fight against the poisoned hearts of this world..."

As Avery spoke on with controlled passion, the old man's invisible air slithered out of the auditorium's ceiling vent. It mingled with the rest of the oxygen in the room, and infected all who were in attendance.

It took only seconds before the effect on the people became apparent. Droves of onlookers now began furling their brows, blinking their eyes, and looking all about, at a loss.

Avery took notice, and his words trailed off. Paul and Virg took notice as well. An instant later, all three felt the unclearing in their minds, in their eyes' focus. But unlike the rest of the audience and security detail, the graying effect was less intense. All three of them shook their heads to attempt a workable sense of reality, a grasp of who they were and what was happening.

Throughout the crowd, overlapping and uncertain voices uttered questions of identity and purpose of being at the theater. What day was it, what time, did anybody know anybody?

No one, of course, had the mental wherewithal to notice the pale, crazy-eyed boy who had perched himself high up in the rafters of the stage's lighting frames. But he noticed all of them. And the tainted air had no effect on him, for his being swam in it already. And it ironically fed his direction. He gazed upon Avery, who was straight down from the child, thirty feet below.

The tiny wretch smiled.

And leapt from the rafter.

The boy's descent impacted harshly on Avery's neck and shoulders, enough to make the man crumple to the floor. The boy fumbled himself but soon recovered to mount the now laid flat man.

He whipped out his needled syringe and yanked it high above himself to then thrust it down in a stabbing motion. It would have easily pierced Avery's chest had he not the mental recovery to grab the boy's wrist and halt the needle. But the child's strength was inhumanly powerful—and despite the resistance of Avery's iron grip, the needle was still coming down upon him.

Paul and Virg were still steady-minded enough to track what was happening and why. Virg was closer and attempted to rush to Avery's aid. But a fresh wave of tainted air hit his senses and he faltered.

Paul, of course, had seen the boy in action before, knew that he was responsible for the death of a cop, and didn't hesitate to act. He drew his .45 and aimed as well as he could at the small but impossibly strong child. And fired away at the syringe arm's shoulder.

The boy didn't flinch, no fling of blood came from the new hole in his shoulder area. But he now looked maliciously at Paul. And growled like a rabid possum.

Virg had gotten his focus back somewhat and saw that the boy was hit by Paul's bullet—and wasn't bleeding in the slightest. _Inhuman,_ Virg's mind concluded, something unnatural and evil...He heard Paul scream, _Shoot it! Shoot before it sticks him!_

Virg was battling with uncertainty—but trusted Paul's instincts, and drew his own piece to fire on the small attacker. Now both cops were drilling visible holes into the boy.

But he couldn't be deterred. The needle plunged ever closer to Avery's chest. The man's face and teeth clenched with the full might of his strength. But it simply wasn't enough to prevent the syringe's progress downward.

But suddenly, one of Paul's shots actually smashed the syringe out of the grasp of the boy. The thing flew spinningly away and hit the stage floor far from reach. The boy growled again and tracked both cops as they came sprinting, converging toward him.

The child snapped his stare back to Avery and sneered viciously. He socked him once, twice, then bounded off the now unconscious man and speedily away from the stage. In seconds he was through the crowd of highly confused and wandering people, and out of sight altogether.

"I'm going after the boy!" Virg yelled as he ran toward the exit.

"I'll stay with Chen!" Paul shouted back, and rushed to huddle over the comatose politician. He patted Avery's cheek. "Mr. Chen...Mr. Chen...Avery..."

As soon Virg blasted his way out of the theater, it seemed his mind was clearer, less fogged. So he found he could now direct his thoughts toward a more furious run. But the boy was quick and had gained a considerable distance ahead. Yet he was still in sight. Virg marveled at the strength of the ghostly boy as he raced effortlessly through the street. Particularly with several bullet holes in him!

The thing wasn't human, couldn't be.

No matter, Virg was going to run him down. He sped up after his prey.

"...Where's-where's the boy?" Avery uttered as he began to come to under the crouch of Paul.

"My partner is after him," Paul responded, "Do you think you can stand? I wanna get us away from the scene as soon as possible—before another attempt is made on your life."

"I think I can do it..." And Avery got to his feet successfully. Paul led him to the exit through the aimless crowd of afflicted people.

God, this kid is fast, Virg's thoughts observed as he charged after the boy. The detective was bounding at his top speed in pursuit, but he couldn't close the gap between himself and the tiny runner. Pedestrians on the sidewalk leapt aside to make way for the chase, most with curious and surprised expressions.

"Stop that boy!" Virg shouted but no onlooker would do so. It was as if they instinctively knew they should stick clear.

For block after block, crosswalk after crosswalk, the race went on. Virg was breathing fast and heavy, desperate to keep up the pace after the small devil.

Suddenly, the boy veered sharply to his right and entered a large building; it looked almost like a warehouse from Virg's vantage point. Within ten seconds he had reached the large opening to the building—which now showed itself to be an industrial press and manufacturing warehouse.

As Virg curved quickly to enter the place, he caught sight of workers who stared dumbfounded at him. One had the gall to say, "Hey! You can't go through—!"

But Virg blasted, "State police! Clear out! Now!" as he speedily passed them and drew his .45.

"Hey man, that's just a boy!" another worker protested, "And you're pulling a gun?!"

"CLEAR OUT!" Virg repeated and raced further in, passing more shocked workers. The sound of the machine presses and metal sheet cutters came blaring from all over. But the boy was nowhere in sight of the expansive industrial room. More employees came rushing forth from different spots and converging on Virg's position.

He pulled out his state police badge and flashed it to the workers. "Where did the boy go? I'm not here to hurt him, I just want to stop him from hurting himself or anyone else."

One burly woman announced, "He's back behind the thick sheet cutters, on the left there..." She pointed in the proper direction to illustrate.

"Thanks. Now please clear out and call for back up with the local police."

Most of them nodded and all of them rushed past Virg to leave him by himself.

Alone with the boy...or whatever he truly was.

Virg angled his .45's aim somewhat upward as he slowly proceeded further into the machine obstacled warehouse. He bobbed and weaved his way toward the back left section and eventually found the aforementioned hunks of machinery—the thick sheet cutters. With perfect and deafening cadence, they performed their duties, sectioning fat spreads of smooth metal along a conveyor.

He couldn't see the boy anywhere. But there were several sections to hide behind, both in terms of machinery and the sheet depository bins.

Virg tried, "Whoever you are, _what_ ever you are...there's nowhere else to go...Why don't you just come out...We can talk about why you are doing this...okay? Just show yourself—"

"EEEEEEEEEEAAAUURRRREEEEEEEE!"

_My God,_ Virg thought in terror, _what the hell was that...and where did it come from?_

He couldn't discern a particular direction of the inhuman, alien growl; it seemed to come from everywhere, or just like inside his head.

"Can you speak English?!" Virg tried, looking all about. "Are you American?!" Then his eyes popped a bit as he uttered, "Are you human?!"

Virg caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and he swung about to track his gun aim toward the zipping blur. But the movement was brief and now it was gone, shielded by another hulk of machinery.

The sheet cutter behind him mysteriously shut off for a few seconds, then roared back to chopping life again. He spun to witness the freak power outage.

Then from behind his stance now, a separate massive device cut off for a few seconds. Again, he whirled to witness the anomaly.

A turn yet again occurred when he heard then saw a cutter machine now begin chopping not the regular fifteen inch long sheets of metal, but centimeter long snippets. And it performed the function quite rapidly, _bam! bam! bam!..._

Now all the machines were working too quickly, creating metal products that fell too soon into the bins. It was now that Virg began to notice splotches of gray spittle dirtying the machines.

Once again, another machine halted its function, started, stopped, started, stopped...

Then _warped_ itself into impossibly odd shaping right in front of Virg's eyes. The wrenching produced a disturbing iron moan and rattle.

Soon, many other presses and cutters followed suit, ceasing their purpose and misshaping themselves.

Virg was frightened, disbelieving of what he was witnessing.

And unnoticing of what had now bounded high in the air from behind him. And was now arcing noiselessly toward the unsuspecting detective, ready to impact on his shoulders and head.

And the boy, the leaping projectile, did just that, slamming into Virg's upper backside with collapsing force. The man crumpled forth and fumbled his gun. The weapon clacked and slid away, out of grasping range of Virg's hands. The boy fisted a handful of Virg's shirt and easily spun him about, so that now they were face to face. The boy rattled off another alien growl.

"... _Jesus_..." Virg uttered as he now got his first real look at this chalky-white skinned and greasy-black haired abomination. The thing that chilled him the most was the boy's eyes, how they performed their bizarre movements.

Not human, Virg's mind spoke again.

The boy yawned his mouth in a slackened fashion while arching his head back a bit. A gurgling sound occurred as an oozing swill fell from his mouth. And began to string its way down to Virg's cheek and chin.

Virg began to struggle fiercely to prevent the toxic spittle from reaching his face. But the boy clamped him in place with iron grips. The man raged his head from side to side, grunting in resistance. But it was no use—the oozing made contact with his nose and cheek, then lined itself down the contour of his jaw and neck. Virg's eyes were tensed with fear and revulsion.

The boy grinned toothily. And gurgled a bubbling growl as he drew back a cocking fist then slammed Virg in the face with it. Instantly the man was out cold.

The boy rose, keeping the smile, and quickly raced away from the warehouse, completely unhindered from anyone he came across.

Chapter 25

The dusty jeep that Marta and the kids had liberated from Gael had given out thirty miles ago. But it was their good fortune that available vehicles were now in abundance—since the owners were now all deceased.

They drove their new car into Mexico and across the vast country—and witnessed the same sort of wholesale destruction with every new town. It appeared that there would be no end to the ruin.

But the three were strangely, numbly used to the macabre scenes by now; expecting them as the norm and simply a repetitive preview of more to come. Of course, the half-headed man was ahead of them—he was always ahead of them no matter how fast they drove.

City after city they passed, mile after endless mile, stopping only to obtain what they needed to keep going. They didn't expect to find anyone who might have been lucky enough to survive. For if there had been, it was clear to all three that they wouldn't have stuck around. They would be trying for the border the same as Marta, Celia, and Roddy.

And after hundreds of miles and yet another car to ride, they finally came to that all-important American border.

Only it may as well have been just another stretch of road, another section of civilization chaotically brought to shambles and human decay. The border check stations were crashed and broken. Dusty and burnt vehicles were strewn all about—some were jutting out of large cracks in the ground. And, of course, the corpses were scattered everywhere.

But Marta, Roddy, and Celia ignored it all and travelled on into the States. Hoping for better but expecting the same as here.

Chapter 26

The constant sun shared its rays on the two women who were cramped in the life raft. They were drifting aimlessly with the tide, staring out at the boundless and wind carved sea; their expressions were devoid of feeling.

The elder of the women spoke. "We'll have to try and catch fish now. We're entirely out of rations," Martha announced without enthusiasm.

Her sister, Mary, said in resonse, "I was afraid you were going to say that."

"And you know we can't drink the water. It'll make us sick."

"I know...God, I miss her so much..."

"Don't think about it, Mary. Concentrate on something else."

"Like what?"

"Your favorite song, a place you'd like to visit, things like that."

"How about my favorite food?"

"...Given our current predicament, I think another option would be better."

"You're right...I'm sorry, I can't think of anything _but_ her."

"...All right...let's talk about Mandy, then."

"...I keep thinking that if we had just kept our mouths shut about her love life, maybe she'd still be alive...Maybe she never would have left the room."

"Then all three of us would have been infected at the same point. What if we had all left the room together to get dinner, or play shuffle board, or whatever...what if, what if. We had no way of knowing this would happen, Mary. So stop punishing yourself, we have enough to deal with right now."

"I can't help it, it keeps haunting me...I mean, who are we to try and run her life for her...Like we had much luck ourselves with men..."

"You mean those men didn't have much luck with us. We're the catches here, Mary, not them."

"...You know something...maybe she could have turned him around...I think she would have been the one to do it. Sometimes all it takes is someone to believe in you."

"...Sometimes...and sometimes we fall into the same patterns we've always done. Lester, Phillip, Lance, Cameron, and Kelly. Are they not all the same coward of character, Mary? Weren't they all just a drag on her spirit— _and_ her finances? None of those idiots advanced Mandy in the way that they should've, and I think you know that deep down."

"...Well what does it matter now?" Mary rhetorically, coldly said.

Martha looked away with neutral eyes. "...It doesn't."

"...You think we'll survive this?"

"Depends on how determined we are."

"I don't imagine raw fish are that tasty."

"No, I don't imagine so...but that's what we'll resort to eating—if we can catch them, that is."

"Can't wait," Mary uttered flatly.

Chapter 27

Paul had made it to the hospital after dropping Avery at the local police station. He had been told that his partner had been admitted and was under observation for his injuries, including a broken nose and a concussion.

Paul found his way to the room that Virg was laid up in and cheerfully greeted him. "Hey, flatfoot, how ya feeling?"

"Does the expression, 'ran over by a freight truck' ring a bell?"

"That bad, huh?"

"Little bastard knocked me out cold, with a broken nose to boot...I've come to the conclusion that he ain't human."

"Well, if he isn't human, then what is he?"

"Damned if I know. Demon from hell signaling the End of Days? You got me, but he's not some little boy—he looks like one but he's definitely not."

"...You may be right about the End of Days thing. The world seems to be coming apart—and rapidly...Maybe our good Creator's come back to our neck of the woods and found us just too stupid to live."

"What took him so long?"

Paul laughed, then so did Virg.

Virg sobered and asked, "How's the councilman?"

"He's fine, I left him with our local friends. His press agent and a boatload of security are picking him up."

"Have you contacted Tabitha? I mean, with all that's going on—"

"I'm going to talk to her in a few, I just wanted to see how you were first."

"Good to see you have your priorities straight."

Again they laughed.

Virg said on, "Anyone spotted the boy?"

"No, no sign of him. He's disappeared into thin air, apparently."

"I don't get this, why does he want Chen? What's the connection?"

"Chen doesn't know. He says he's never made any real enemies—certainly none that would entertain trying to kill him."

"As far as he knows, anyway."

"Mm..."

"What about the case—any word from Deke's boys on stakeout?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. She hasn't made any suspicious moves."

"Damn, I was really hoping she would crack and retrieve her kid; then say, 'Oh my goodness, it's a miracle! My son has returned to me! Thanks be praised!'"

"Well, it's still early in the game, we might get her yet."

"Meanwhile, her kid's out there somewhere probably chewing on weeds and talking to the birds...or worse."

"We'll find him. Stay positive."

Chapter 28

Twenty minutes later, Paul was out in the hospital parking lot, attempting to contact Tabitha on his cell phone. She picked up and he said, "Hey, how's it—?"

But he was cut off by her disturbed voice, "Paul, I can't talk right now."

"What's going on? What happened?" His tone was serious, commanding.

"...I can't...Four girls have _died_ , Paul, they've just died in the dorms here, and no one can explain it! Everybody here is, like, locked away in their rooms—no one wants to come out...Paul, one of the girls that died..." He heard a frightening silence before she continued. "...one of them was my roommate."

"Stay put, I'm coming to get you."

"Hurry...I'm scared, I'm really scared."

Paul was in his car in five seconds flat and on the road to Tabitha's university. He went way past the speed limit but he didn't care, he had to get to his ex as soon as possible.

His cell phone rang, and he hooked it to the dash panel port, hit speaker function, and receive. The phone's display read "unknown."

"This is Paul," he said, distracted.

The phone spoke a woman's voice. "Detective Danford, I'm sorry to bother you, but—"

"Who is this?"

"My name is Dr. Cora Baxter, I'm a geneticist and neurological specialist—"

"Dr. Baxter, I'm really in rather a major rush here; if this is about a case, I'd prefer that we do this another time—"

"This is not about a case, detective, and I'm afraid what I have to discuss can't wait." She sounded quite adamant.

"...Well then do it quick, I'm on the road."

"I'll be as brief as possible. I'm afraid that I have been profiling you, Mr. Danford. As I have been, certain other unique individuals—"

"I'm happy as a state detective, doctor, I have no interest in special task force work."

"This is not about that, detective. This is something much more relevant, believe me."

"What's this about?"

"It's about our survival, Mr. Danford. I'm sure you've noticed that things have been rapidly degenerating around us. Things have been becoming chaotic on an unnatural and increasing scale. Many believe, of course, that we're under some sort of new and inventive form of terrorist attack. Others such as religious leaders are crying it's the End of Days."

"But you don't believe that's true..."

"Not in the same respect that people have been referring to. No, I'm afraid I have evidence that is quite a bit more disturbing."

"Such as? And please hurry, I'm almost to my destination."

"Would you agree, Mr. Danford, that chaos is an abstract dependent on the mind's preconceptions?"

"That sounds somewhat right, okay..."

"But what if it wasn't simply that, Mr. Danford? What if it became something tangible in its own, what if it now had a face...or faces?"

"Okay, what if. What's your point, doctor?"

"Detective...it _has_ become a physical entity— _entities._ And they are running rampant throughout the world as we speak. And I don't believe they're here for the purpose of The Rapture, or because the devil wants to swallow up the world. Or for any other purpose than to bring our existence to utter and complete chaos. You've seen a manifestation of this at work, I know you have."

"I've seen something I can't explain but that doesn't mean I cotton to your fantasy tale, doctor."

"What's happening around us is no fantasy, Paul, it's real and it's growing." Her tone was of serious warning.

"Mm-hm, yep, okay, thank you, doctor, please lose this number now. Goodbye." And he hung up to speedily drive on.

When Paul drove up to the university and saw the shape the massive establishment was in, he wished that he wouldn't have so easily discounted Dr. Baxter's theory.

The university buildings were now misshapen and quite odd in structure. Near the entrance, there stood high a videoscreen that typically displayed announcements and advertisements for school affiliated businesses and organizations. Right now it was playing random and nonsensical images, letters, numbers, and symbols—mostly overlapping, strobe-like, and chaotic.

A clock tower at the center of the dormitories twisted up impossibly right before Paul's eyes. The warping of its once proper shape astounded Paul...and also terrified him.

Tabitha was near there, inside one of the dormitories, frightened, no doubt, by the hastened decay of things around her. Unless she ran...

Paul didn't even bother to park properly in a metered parking space; he simply parked near a curb. Then he got out and ran toward the dormitories to try and find Tabitha.

It was fortunate for him that the door to the dorm was still in its original shape. He entered and sped down the hall to where Tabitha's room was located. He shouted at the door, "Tab, it's me!"

"Paul?!" Tabitha's muffled voice came back through the locked door.

"Yes! Open up!"

He heard fast footsteps boom their way toward the door, an unlatching of the lock, then the door opened up to reveal a terrified Tabitha.

"Are you ready?" Paul tensely asked.

"Yes," she replied immediately.

And as she did, the structure of the room behind her loudly wrenched itself into a new and collapsing shape, cramping the space considerably.

"Yes! Yes! Let's go!" She hurried out as she bolted from the doorway and quickly accompanied Paul toward the exit.

But now the front door to the building was nowhere near its original rectangular shaping. Now it had become a crooked and wedged mess. As if something powerful tried to squeeze the door frame cinchingly together.

"Where's another way out?" Paul raptly asked her as they halted at the injured door.

"This is it. Good God, Paul, _what_ is happening?"

"I don't know yet. Get behind me and plug your ears."

She did as he ordered, and he pulled out his .45 to point at the door. He fired several times, creating a vicious dotted outline of a square five feet in its lengths. Then he rushed to the door and kicked at the center of the makeshift square. The shots had weakened the structure of the wood, and a new opening was shoved out by the kick. He cleared a wider opening with the muzzle of his gun.

He then told Tabitha to climb through, which she quickly did. He followed after.

Two minutes later they were in Paul's car and fast on the road to his place.

Chapter 29

Dusk had begun as Marta and the kids drove through Texas. The path of destruction was considerable on the freeway they traveled. At times they had to bob and weave through stopped cars—some vacant, some featuring corpses—and other times they had to reroute themselves off the freeway because of permanent traffic jams. But always they fed themselves back on the freeway to go as far as they could travel. By 11 PM it was clear they needed to stop somewhere and rest. All three were very hungry.

They stopped off at a hotel and Marta parked. They found the keys to open the rooms and they chose a room fairly close to the vending machines. There was no running water or electricity, but they had spacious beds to lie on. And the vending machines were miraculously fully stocked.

They settled in and agreed that none of them should go anywhere alone—all three should stick together for here on out. But this worked out fine since they each had a strong desire to raid the vending machines for food and drink. They didn't have any money so they chose to break into the front office cash register. Once they had gobs of change and bills in their pockets, they dispensed the snacks and sodas and made their way back to the room.

Treats, treats, treats, thought all of them as they lounged in the room's beds and sofa. Finally, a bright spot to all of the hundreds of miles of bad road. Sweets instead of the sour and bitter.

Soon their conversations turned toward what their next step would be.

"I have an aunt and uncle who live in New York," Marta revealed as she threw another almond in her mouth.

"How long would it take us to get there?" Celia asked between sips of root beer.

"Not sure. Maybe a few days, three or four as far as I can tell."

"Do you think they'll take us in? All of us?" Roddy asked, opening up a package of doughnuts.

"I don't see why not," Marta said and took a drink from her cola. "Inez and Alejandro were always good to me. I think they would like the both of you..." Her face turned a bit hard. "...if they're still alive, that is."

"And if we can make it that far." Celia added soberly.

"Well, let's not worry about that right now. Now is junk food...some of the best junk food I've ever had."

"Shit yeah, little chocolate doughnuts!" Roddy decreed as he held up a mini-doughnut and promptly popped it in his mouth to eat whole.

"Shit yeah, corn chips!" Celia proclaimed, thrusting her bag of chips in the air.

"Shit yeah, almonds!" Marta added and lifted up her almond bag for a brief second.

"Can I have one?" Roddy asked.

"Yeah, me too?" Celia said.

"If you can catch them right in your mouths," Marta challenged.

She aimed one at Roddy and threw strategically toward his gaping mouth. The almond made it right onto his tongue. He immediately began chomping away at the nut with a vibrant smile on his face.

"Woo!" Marta squealed.

"Rod-dy!" Celia cheered on.

"Now you," Marta directed at Celia, and targeted another almond at the girl's open mouth. She threw, but the tiny nut bounced off Celia's lower lip and onto the bed. She scooped it up with disappointment.

"Aw, oops," Celia blurted.

"Uh-oh, you know the rules, give it back now..." Marta ordered with mock seriousness.

"Awwww..." Celia whined and handed it over to the elder female.

"Now back on the bed—I'll give you one more shot, okay?"

"Okay," Celia agreed, and readied herself with total focus for the throw.

The nut soared from Marta once more—and this time the execution was true: the almond landed square on Celia's tongue! Once it was firmly inside her closed mouth, her fisted-in-triumph hands shot over her head.

" _Yes,_ girl!" Marta exploded with excitement.

"Uh oh, Ceeeeliaa!" Roddy said in boisterous support.

"Mmm..." Celia hummed as she ate, "That's the best almond ever."

Chapter 30

The attacking winds punished Martha and Mary, and challenged their ability to stay firmly within the lifeboat raft. Were it not for the hold straps cemented to the sides of the boat, the sisters would have met the water already.

Yet even with the straps to clench and wrap around their arms, the increasingly choppy and sea-sawing waves were further threatening their efforts.

For three hours they dealt with the trying conditions before things died down. By the end of it, both women were exhausted and starving. Fishing had been an impossibility for the two: every time they were lucky enough to have fish come near, they were either too quick to grasp or too slippery to keep. And by now, both Martha and Mary were too spent to even try.

"...Well..." Mary began weakly as she lay back in a stupor. "...it's not looking too good...is it?"

"...Not so much, little sis..." Martha got out just as listless, "...This is probably it for us."

"...Probably...just as well...the way things are going...Do you think it's the end times for the world?"

"...Who can say...who really knows what's happening—"

"Oh, come on...you saw that thing—that girl...what she could do...how she _sounded_..."

"So...what are you saying...that she's like...one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocolypse...and all that crap...?"

"...Maybe just that very thing, Martha..."

"...You know I don't believe that sort of thing...you know I'm too clear minded for that mythical, bedtime story crap."

"...Martha...the ship's structure was _warping_ right in front of us...there's no _plausible_ explanation for that...It's like it was losing its stability...just as much as Mandy was—"

"Let's not talk about Mandy...let's not talk about any of this...none of it will help us...in what we now face."

"...Well, what do we talk about then?"

"...Maybe just nothing, Mary."

"...But I'm bored...and I need a distraction from how hungry I am."

"...All right...how 'bout...ancient Egyptian artifacts, or...the papacy of 12th century Rome, or the rise and fall of the Cabbage Patch Dolls. Does any of that interest you for an in-depth discussion?" Martha said with annoyance.

"Boy...you sure are a real bitch when you're starving."

"Well pardon me, but I hadn't intended on dying at this point in my life. I had much more in mind for me, for us...You had so many more books in you...And now it'll all be wasted."

"...So you had always planned on building your life...entirely around mine?"

"Well...I _am_ your manager."

"That's not what I meant..."

"Well what then?"

"You were never going to have a life outside of what we did?"

"Husband and kids, and all that stifling muck? Is that what you're getting at?"

"At least a steady beau, maybe...someone to fill the nights."

"...It's a waste of who I am, and what I can accomplish...I don't need any insecure or emotionally stunted males moaning and whining because I can't focus enough time and energy to their petty needs."

"...Sure you were never just afraid?"

"Afraid of what?"

"That maybe the problem might be you?"

" _Meaning..._ "

"Meaning maybe you're the one who has always had the emotional problems...Maybe _you_ didn't know how to love right—"

Despite her exhaustion and hunger, Martha burst forth with great anger, "Oh _trust_ me, dear little sis, it was _them_ who did it wrong! You better take my word on that!"

Mary became wide-eyed, speechless. Soon, however, she softly spoke up again. "...Okay...we'll talk about something else..."

"Yeah...let's."

"So Cabbage Patch Dolls..."

Martha guffawed a bit then looked off at the vast sea about them.

Chapter 31

Avery walked through his front door and expected to find his family milling about at least somewhere visible in his home. But it appeared to be utterly vacant of his loved ones. He called out for them. And a woman's voice—his wife's—came calling back...from upstairs. He stepped up to the second level and found his way to his and his wife's bedroom.

Where his entire family was sitting huddled on the bed, staring back at him with serious eyes.

"What's up?" he asked, a bit confused.

His wife said, "Avery, we want to talk to you."

"You were watching then."

"Yes, we were watching. All of us."

"Look, I'm fine, it was a bit hairy for a while but—"

"We're not here to argue the matter. We have decided that we are going to try and get away from what's happening. We want you to come with us, we're desperate for you to come with us...But if you decide to stay here, we will leave without you."

Avery eyed both of his children. And he could see the resoluteness in their eyes, their unwavering certainty. He glanced back at his wife and saw the same stony appearance.

"Will you come with us?" she asked.

He tried, "What if there _is_ no getting away from it, what if nowhere is safe from this madness?"

"We realize that's a possibility but it's still a better option than staying here, where things are coming apart for certain."

"Are you coming with us, dad?" his son asked with desperation.

Avery looked off dumbly, conflicted, but soon found his mental footing to finally respond, "...Yes, I'm coming with you, of course, I am."

And they all came together to embrace as a whole and unified family.

His wife said, "Thank you, honey."

"Thanks for waiting for me," Avery said back.

Chapter 32

Paul and Tabitha had made it back to his place, but not before witnessing some of the most bizarre occurrences along the way. People and things were discombobulated, out of whack in their behaviors and actions. It was clear things were spreading to quite alarming proportions hour by hour. How the two ex-spouses made it back to his apartment was a wonder to both of them.

As they sat at his dining room table, he poured her a drink of whiskey then poured himself a glass. They both drank.

Then Tabitha spoke, "Paul, I'm scared that this is it. That the world is coming to an end."

"There's definitely some weird things happening, I have to admit. Things I can't explain...But that doesn't mean that there isn't an explanation. If I were some sort of highbrow scientist type, I may be able to make all of this bizarre crap plausible, but..."

"There's nothing plausible about what happened at the university, Paul. You saw what happened to the dorm room!" She took another nerve-soothing drink.

"Well see, that right there. I mean it looks unexplainable, doesn't it. But suppose it's the result of some...I don't know, like, transmitted wave length that causes structures to change. Like I said, though, I'm not a science expert, I can't give you a complete answer on—"

"You're saying terrorist scientists are responsible for all of this? Wouldn't they get off more with just blowing things up?"

"Maybe they don't have to bother now. Shoot these wavelengths out from, say, Canada—or South America, where it looks like a lot of this started. My point is, hon, don't automatically assume that it's, you know, judgment day and all that."

"Well, it sure seems like it."

"I'm willing to bet you they're going to find whoever's doing this, and stop them before things go too far."

"I hope so, Paul, but I can't wait around for that, I wanna get out of this city. Go somewhere less crowded—or maybe with no people or buildings at all."

"So you're just thinking of running away again," he accused with a loaded tone.

"You mean like I did with our marriage? How could I have run away from something that wasn't there in the first place? You were _never there_ , Paul."

"I tried to be."

"Look, do you really want to hash this out now? When things are rapidly coming apart in the world?"

"Hey, if things _are_ coming to an end, then _yeah_ , I think we should lay everything out! Now come on, you couldn't have held out for a few years until I got promoted—"

"What if you didn't get promoted? What if you were stuck in the same position for twenty, thirty years, and all we could have is goodbye in the morning and goodnight at bedtime? What kind of marriage is that, Paul?" She began to rise as she blurted, "Oh what's the point, there's no talking to y—"

But he placed a hand on her upper arm to stop her from quickly leaving. "Wait, wait, don't go, please. I'm sorry, okay? You're right, of course. Please don't go. If this is the end, I don't want you somewhere else."

She stared at him for an instant, contemplating her next move. Then she sat back down.

"Thank you..." Paul uttered and fully sat back down himself while retracting his hand to rest on the table once more. "...You know I love you like crazy, right?"

"I know..." And suddenly it was too much for her to keep back anymore, and a flood of tears streamed from her eyes. "...I love you too, so damn much...Sometimes I wish I hadn't met you..."

"Don't say that..." He reached over and grasped her hand lovingly.

"...Then it wouldn't be so hard every damn day," she cried on. She put her free hand to her brow and rested her head on it. "...God, I think I'm drunk already."

"You always were a lightweight."

"I know."

"Plus, you probably haven't eaten anything in a while."

He fixed her some food and she ate the whole of it, then her head ached and she became tired. He walked her to his bed and laid her down. She looked like she would doze off at any instant.

He said to her, "Rest for a while, okay? I've got to check on Virg at the hospital, he's not answering his cell."

"Okay...when will you be back?"

"As soon as I can. Just stay here until I return, yeah?"

"...All right..."

"Love you." He kissed her forehead and she was out, asleep already. He put a bed sheet over her then left for his car.

Chapter 33

The winds had picked back up again—and with a vengeance. Martha and Mary were using every last ounce of depleting energy they had to hold on.

Only it wasn't just the multidirectional winds they had to contend with this time. Now it was torrential rain constantly swatting them.

The waves tossed their raft in the extreme, threatening to capsize them at any moment.

The girls knew this was likely it for them.

"Martha!" Mary hollered in desperation. "Whatever happens...after this...I hope I'm with you...and Mandy!"

"And our mother!" Martha shouted over the sounds of the waves and wind.

"And even our father—though he left us for another!"

"...Even him!" Martha conceded, feeling a surge of mercy at the end of it all.

They moved to embrace one another, though they knew to do so would cause them to be unsecured from the side-straps. In the next instant, a wave of water washed over the raft and knocked both hugging women into the violent waters. They were pulled apart from each other by the strong currents, though both reached to try and stay touching, to stay together. It was of no use, of course, the currents were too powerful. Through forced gulps of water, they called out desperately for each other. In the next moment, total drags of exhaustion and the pull of gravity submerged them. They both fell further under; still being pulled greater distances away from one another. It wasn't long before neither could see the other through the murkiness of the ocean. Their consciousnesses were leaving them anyway.

Had they the strength to hold on to their waking states, they would have witnessed four heavily geared bodies shoot down into the water. Would have noticed that two were coming straight for them with hooklines in their grasp. To firmly strap around Martha and Mary's torsos.

Once the lines were secure to the sisters, they were yanked up into the air, pelted once more by the heavy rain. Their hooklines retracted fully upward to their source—a massive rescue helicopter as it hovered over the ocean. The men on board the helicopter pulled the listless women on board, then lowered the lines down to pick up the rescuing divers. Once all were aboard and secured, the pilot ascended the great vehicle and flew her away not even a quarter mile to the naval vessel from which she came.

Six hours later, Martha awoke in a medical facility, lying in one of its cushioned beds. An IV snaked its way out of her arm and up to a saline bag hooked to its accompanying pole.

She looked weakly about and noticed Mary was unconscious in the bed next to her. She called out Mary's name but got nothing in return, no stirring of any kind.

"Ah good, you're awake!" came a voice from the hatchway as a man entered the room.

Martha turned her head to the man and asked, "Where the hell am I?"

"The U.S.S. Yorktown. Welcome, I'm Lieutenant Larabee, or Dr. Larabee if you prefer. Don't worry about your friend, her vitals are stable, she should come around soon. How long had you two been out there?"

"Four days."

"Probably felt like more, I'm guessing. Well, you're safe now. Although, admittedly, I don't know for how long. Seems like the entire world is going to hell in a custom-made hand basket."

"Martha..." came a weak voice.

Martha turned her head again to witness that Mary was coming to. "Mary..."

"Where are we?"

"The U.S.S. Yorktown apparently."

"Excuse me," Larabee interrupted nervously, "I don't mean to sound forward but...are you the same Mary Nielson who wrote the _Peculiar Penguin_ books?"

"...Yeah, that's me," Mary responded.

"Can I say it's a pleasure to meet you? My kids absolutely love your books—especially _The Peculiar Penguin Rides a Bike,_ that's their favorite."

"Thank you, very kind of you to say."

"Sure, sure...How are you feeling? Actually, how are both of you feeling? Any bizarre symptoms that you can detect or have encountered?"

The sisters eyed each other—what was he getting at?

He went on, "Sorry to ask but we've received some very alarming reports from around the world concerning some new virus outbreak."

Martha and Mary looked back to Larabee and answered no, none.

"That's good," he said with relief. "The last thing I wanted to do was put you into quarantine. Especially someone like you, Miss Nielson."

_I had a hand in those books too,_ Martha thought of pointing out but didn't. Her expression brought a little of that jealous thought out however.

Yet it went unnoticed as a new figure entered the room.

"Ah good, they're awake," echoed Larabee's superior officer.

"Yes, sir," Larabee concurred as he saluted the newcomer.

The man saluted him back then announced to the sisters, "Welcome aboard. I'm Captain John Madison, it's a pleasure to meet you two. Has the lieutenant here informed you of where you are?"

"Yes," Martha said.

"Good. Lieutenant, have they exhibited any strange symptoms or behaviors?"

"No, sir. And they report none."

"Good. Very good. Ladies, allow me to apprise you of our situation. We are currently three thousand miles outside of the U.S. east coast. We've just hit a refueling station which will allow us roughly three days of travel. After that we'll have to make for the coast. Unfortunately our news reports have told us that the coast as well as the rest of the continent has been infected with whatever virus has broken out.

"And fuel's not our only concern, we will soon run out of food supplies if we don't restock. Which means we'll have to make patrol runs into the populated areas—which could get dicey.

"I know you two have been through a lot, but if it's all the same I'd like to hear what happened to get you to where we found you."

Once again, the sisters stared tensely at each other—this wasn't going to be pleasant.

They launched into their whole story, starting with the reason they had went to Europe in the first place. And all the details were given—including every bizarre and tragic occurrence that brought them to their desperate circumstance on the lifeboat. Mandy had to be mentioned...as well as the insane, deathly looking girl who threatened them.

"So your sister was infected," Madison recounted, "but she didn't infect either of you?"

"No," Martha reiterated, "we were careful about that."

"...I'm sorry for your loss, ladies."

Both women thanked him.

"We're safe for the time being. Please stay in here in medical at least another day for observation, and to, of course, get your strength up. Then we should be able to arrange a cabin or two for you to bunk in. All right?"

The sisters nodded.

"Very good. Once again, it was a pleasure to meet you. If you need anything that I can arrange, don't hesitate to let Larabee here know, and he'll contact me."

They thanked him.

The captain nodded with a gracious smile to the women then gave a formal look at Larabee. "Lieutenant."

"Captain," Larabee said back, and Madison left. The lieutenant faced the sisters and offered approvingly, "Not to worry, ladies. If anyone can get us through this mess, it's the captain."

Chapter 34

It was becoming worse by the hour, Paul observed as he drove to the hospital. Things were bad already, of course, and he had noticed that driving here and there earlier in the day. But now the same traveled streets were even more anarchistic. People ran all over, in and out of buildings that were becoming new and odd shapes. And as a result of that, structural fires now plagued many of those places. The military and the national guard were everywhere, trying to keep some sense of order; all were clad in riot gear and gas masks.

And suddenly Paul saw it: a wretched figure walking among the chaos; tall and lanky, anorexic and bone-white. The mannish shape sporadically sprouted long and black hair from its scalp. The thing had no lower jaw, no tongue. And no right hand, only a stump at the elbow.

In the next instant, Paul witnessed the terror shape vomit projectile-like at a business building, catching a few sprinting citizens in the putrid spray. An instant later, the liquid caused both building and people alike to react in a disturbing manner. The poor souls caught in the path of the wretchings began flailing about wildly.

The building cracked and split apart into three sections, while simultaneously inverting its structure; becoming shapes of utter bizarreness. Until it exploded with flame-soaked shrapnel.

Paul halted his car in a screeching skid, unbelieving of what he was seeing. And this was fortunate for him, because just ten feet in front of his car, a loud crack in the road tore up the surface all across the way, from building to building, sidewalk to sidewalk. It widened and deepened far into the crust of the earth. Screaming citizens teetered and tipped over the edge and fell down into the dark.

Paul had a notion that this newly discovered entity of chaos would react the same way as the ghastly boy would to gunfire. But the detective was willing to give it a serious go anyway. He opened his door and whipped out his .45 to aim it at the deformed wretch on the other end of the giant crack. Positioning himself between the frame of the car and the door, he opened fire generously on the figure.

And true to his suspicion, the bullets perforated the manlike monster but no blood sprayed from the thing. In fact, it had no reaction at all to its injuries. He merely stared ghostlike at Paul. But the detective had a feeling that if the squalored bastard had a lower jaw, he would be grinning at his would-be assassin.

When the military types had recovered well enough from the blast, two of the non-injured ones rushed the figure and tackled it the ground. Another soldier dogpiled on top to increase the weight.

But it was nothing to the deformed one and he tossed all three of them off and far away into the air. Two landed in damaged heaps, one fell right into the maw of the massive crack.

The boney demon rose to stand and searched to find new targets for his showering sick. There were, unfortunately, many harried people to choose from.

Enraged, Paul took a quick judge of the distance width of the fault line, determined how far he would have to back up to then speed forth and jump over it. He jerkingly threw the car in reverse. He raced backwards roughly a hundred feet, then bucked the gear into drive again, and gunned it full force forward.

He shot toward the great split, soared over it, and drove himself straight into the path of the jawless one.

He rammed right into it and smashed the deathly agent clear into an adjoining business building. The crash was immense and jolting, jarring Paul's senses. He experienced the severe pain of whiplash as the airbag deployed with punching force into his head and chest.

The chaos bringer was now pinned between the crumpled front of Paul's car and the dented brick building. But its grasp on its surroundings wasn't fazed in the slightest. It knew exactly what to do next. The thing vomited forth another oilish torrent onto the hood and windshield of Paul's car. It took but a second before the vehicle began to horribly misshape itself, folding and crumpling until it was no longer a wedging solid to trap the pale monster.

Now it sidled itself out of the less narrowed gap between the wall and the car, and approached the driver's side door. The tallish deformity stared down at Paul as he was still attempting to gain his equilibrium. The airbag was deflating, allowing his head more room to maneuver. He gazed up at the horror that eyed him back with insane eyes. Paul fully expected to be wretched upon.

But from far behind the deformed one, a grenade was lobbed and it landed knockingly, rollingly toward the feet of the man-shape. Paul quickly ducked down behind the shielding of the car door.

The weapon went off, exploding into a vicious blossom of flame and shrapnel. The disfigured one was blast-knocked into the twisted hull of Paul's car and rebounded to the sidewalk. The thing was sprawled out, motionless for the time being.

Paul's ears rang steady from the sound of the blast. But other than that, he was unharmed. He sat up slowly to see what might still be waiting for him, but found that the deathly figure was nowhere in sight. He dipped his head over the car door and finally caught sight of the downed terror. It was stirring, beginning to attempt a rising.

Paul wasn't going to wait for it to fully stand and release more toxic sick. He opened his door and staggered to a run.

Yet he witnessed a burly man with a large machete come toward him, run past him, and charge the rising deformity. The burly man roared a malicious cry as he chopped the huge knife down into the back of its neck. But the blade only went an inch deep, much to the man's shock, and the gaunted shape whipped about with ferocity. In the quickened move, the burly one lost grip of the machete—and faced his fate head on.

In the next instant he received an overflow of oily-black vomit all over his rotund body. Almost immediately he was transformed into a jerking, flailing, incoherency-spouting mess.

Paul had stopped himself to see if the burly man might have actually done some damage to the thing. Yet when he realized that the attempt was pointless, Paul staggered on away, trying to run as fast as he could in his dazed state.

But the horrible shape had no intention of allowing him to flee—it cocked back its existing hand, now fisted, and slammed the back of the burly man. The immense force of the hit soared him into the air and right at Paul.

The two men impacted and fell together to jumbled heaps on the street. Paul was now blacked out as the burly one flailed wildly and sputtered gibberish from his mouth.

The disfigured servant of chaos came for them in a slow but purposeful walk.

Paul was gaining his consciousness again but found that he had an arm that kept randomly whipping him in the head and neck. He willed himself to become more focused and in control, and spun himself to push the other man off him and away.

But it was too late—the vomited ooze had already made contact with his clothes and skin. He was infected now.

The terror thing saw this, knew that the task was completed, and moved away to search for others to poison.

Chapter 35

Celia was hungry again. She awoke in the dead of night next to her brother, who was still fast asleep. Marta was also down deep, snoring lightly in the other twin bed next to theirs.

The problem for Celia was: she had no more food in the room, nor did the other two. And her stomach was simply rumbling, begging to be filled. She debated whether she should wake the other two to accompany her to the vending machine, or just let them sleep since they were so exhausted.

She arose from bed and trotted quietly over to the window. She peered out at the moonlit scene before her, searching for signs of life, signs of possible trouble. It was deserted as before, which was encouraging—and the vending machine was quite close.

She looked back at the catatonic, lying forms of Marta and Roddy. And wrestled one last time with whether she should bother them or not. But finally she decided to again let them get the sleep they surely needed. And what was she scared for anyway? If someone was going to bother them, they likely would have done it by now...right?

Celia walked lightly to the door and turned the knob. This wasn't one of those fancier motels with a passkey lock door; it was a simple manual lock. As she knew she would be in sight of the door while at the vending machine, she left the knob unlocked while passing through the doorway. She closed the door quietly and headed over to the snack machine. As she did, she still kept a close lookout for any signs of another's presence. Or others'. The last thing she wanted was to be put in a position where she could be possibly violated again. But another part of herself told her that she was being ridiculous and paranoid. No one was around—because they were all likely dead.

She stood in front of the machine and made a quick visual inventory of what was left. She still had a good deal of change on her, now it was just a question of what she was hungry for. The almonds for sure, she dispensed two bags of those along with another bag of chips. For a dessert choice she dropped down a package of chocolate cupcakes with the loop-de-loop frosting strip on top. And for a drink, she picked a juice box.

Satisfied with her selections, she glanced about, all around once again, paranoia itching her. Still no one in sight...but something felt wrong to her, something on an intuitive level. Yet she challenged herself that it was just a trick of the mind.

She turned toward their room and began walking back...

Something thumped behind her—as if a heavy sack of mud had hit the ground from high in the air.

Or possibly the roof of the place.

She froze. Terrified now, she forced herself to look behind her...at what had landed.

It was him. It. The thing that she and her brother witnessed from afar.

The thing with only half a skull.

She hiccupped a shriek and fumbled the snacks she was carrying. As they fell to the ground, she turned back around and sprinted wildly for the room door.

Calmly, without hurry, the anarchy agent followed.

Celia reached the door, swung it inward with a loud smash, then slammed it shut again, locking it securely.

Though she knew deep down it wouldn't do much good against what was coming for them.

The crashing, jarring noises awoke Marta and Roddy immediately, with cries of "What's that?!" and "What the hell?!"

Celia's only reply was, "It's out there! _He's_ out there!"

The other two didn't need anymore description—they knew exactly who she meant. And it chilled them instantly.

From outside, they could hear a splattering of liquid hit the outer walling and the door.

Seconds later, the whole structure of wall and door became disfigured, twisted, cracked, ripped, and gouged.

Celia screamed horridly at what was happening right before her. She couldn't think to move.

"Celia, get away from there!!!" Marta shouted.

" _Back,_ Celia!" Roddy hollered.

She did as she was told and raced to get behind the two of them.

The wall featuring the door continued to degrade and warp into a misshapen and gap-addled disaster. When its integrity was weakened far enough, the thing outside and just beyond pounded on it. And it easily broke away to allow a jagged hole that revealed the half-headed one. It stepped through and sized up what was before it.

Roddy warned, "Don't let him get any of his stuff on you!"

As if in reaction to the boy's warning, the chaos agent brought forth his arm, palm out. And somehow, someway split open his arm just below the elbow, oozing forth a generous torrent of black, oily fluid. It showered across the room, aimed solely at the three terrified people.

Marta, however, still had enough wherewithal to grab the top bedding, upend it high, and block herself and the kids from the tainted spray.

But in the next instant, the cushioned shield began disfiguring itself into an awkward shape, barely describable in form. Marta unhanded it as she was desperate not to be exposed to the oily blood. She searched madly for another shield.

Another sickening spout of dark spray was about to gush from the arm, when Marta yanked the large mirror from off the wall. She quickly barricaded the three of them behind it as it was hit with another blood shower. Now she threw the sullied mirror straight at the attacker, she didn't even wait for the thing to twist or misshape.

The mirror soared at the half-headed one but it merely swung an arm and knocked the object aside. The mirror crashed to the ground in several oily and sharpened pieces—that were now disfiguring individually.

No one in the room noticed this as the chaos bringer released the third volley of blackened filth at the three.

Now both Marta _and_ the kids were working toward protection from the blood. Marta and Roddy both held up a bed sheet to block, while Celia yanked up a pillow. The efforts worked—but as soon as the shielding from the spray was accomplished, they dropped their toxic objects and searched for other items to use. A blanket and one more pillow did the last second trick as a fourth torrent flew at them. And again the oiled and oddly changing things were discarded immediately after.

Marta fast grabbed the 40-inch flatscreen TV from the wooden cabinet. She snap-positioned it in front of her and the kids as they huddled close to her sides.

The tainted blood came, and pelted the glinting TV screen. Yet again they were protected...but the thing was the last large object in the room—and all four of them knew it.

So Roddy made a rapid decision and madly voiced: "RUSH HIM!"

The other two obeyed without second thought or hesitation, and joined Roddy in an insane charge at the monstrosity only feet in front of them. Marta held onto the TV even though it was inverting its innards of circuits and wires, oddly merging itself in the process. They rammed into the agent of chaos—and strangely enough it fell backward with the collision. It seemed that somehow he was weakened. Later on, Roddy would wonder if it was the loss of the blood or Roddy's own presence that lessened the half-headed one's strength—or a combination of both.

But at the frenzied moment of attack, Roddy's only focus was to keep the demon thing pinned to the ground. The TV was twisting up badly but Marta held its framing as best she could to block the wretch's arm from opening up again. The half-head gurgled a whine in distress.

"Celia!" Roddy began, "Grab the lamp!"

Celia bounded up and ran to the lamp on the floor—it had been knocked down—and quickly shucked off the lampshade. She ran back over to the others with the lamp.

"HIT HIM!" Roddy commanded.

And Celia did just that—repeatedly and with enormous force.

The TV was becoming a folded up and ineffective tool for blocking the arm from splitting open again. A welling of oilish blood appeared in the arm's laceration...

...and then simply pooled there, as it became clear that Celia's efforts to brain the half-headed one were working. Not that she let up one bit after noticing this, paranoia and fear still gripping her.

"Celia..." Marta said, out of breath, "...I think you can stop now..."

But Celia continued her wild attack with the lamp base, slamming the existing portion of the ghostly head.

"Celia...Celia!"

Reluctantly, Celia relented but held on to her makeshift weapon. She sat back, panting, wheezing.

Marta finally let go of the odd wreckage of the TV and grabbed Roddy and Celia by the wrists. "Come on! Let's get far away from this thing! Who knows if we even killed it!" She raised them up and together they quickly left the room through the newly created hole in the wall.

Yet as harried as they were, Celia still halted them to pick up her snacks from the ground. Once she had them, they were gone in the car.

The half-headed one did not follow.

Chapter 36

It was official now—Paul had just committed a felony by stealing a car and driving it away. Not that anyone had protested or tried to report him, for the scene of the crime was almost pure anarchy.

Peripherally it gnawed at Paul's sense of justice as a state detective that he stole someone's property. But it couldn't override his obsessiveness in getting to the hospital—and his partner. And the kid. If he could save Joey too, then he surely would. All others there...well, Paul was only one man and could only do so much. Still, that ate away at him too—he wanted to save them all. But maybe he wasn't the only one playing savior at this point.

He sped on as fast as he could, bobbing and weaving through the insane obstacles of stalled or wrecked cars. And people, running and recklessly wandering about on the roads of the city.

_Please, God,_ Paul raged in his mind, _let me make it in time!_

The hospital loomed in the distance down the street, and Paul could see it now as he drove toward the massive structure.

Barely avoiding a wandering little girl, who appeared not to be able to see or move right, Paul got closer to Parkridge General. And noticed now that certain sections of the hospital were morphed and twisted. One part had even wrenched and jutted itself upward into the air.

As he got even closer, he witnessed that some people were still caught in the recently vertically oriented rooms. And were pleading to others to get them down. A ladder was being rushed to that section by two men.

But Paul couldn't focus on that scene for a second longer. In another part of the building, Virg and Joey were stilled housed, still alive. Hopefully.

He drove up to the building and halted his car, parked it as close as he could to the front entrance without regard for stated rules.

He shot from the car and raced inside the lobby, instantly thankful that the entrance to the place still existed. And that the entire structure of the hospital wasn't being consumed in flames.

It was treacherous yet again to finally reach the proper section of the hospital: warped halls and wildly flailing about individuals plagued Paul's progress. But he finally made it to the proper ward and located Virg's room.

Unfortunately, the door to it was impassable now, twisted up and cinched.

"Virg!" Paul cried out.

"Paul?!" Virg yelled back from inside the room.

"You all right?!"

"I can't see!"

"Hold on! I'm gonna get you out of there!"

Paul quickly looked about to try and find a certain object that would serve his needs. And after a bit of walk and search, he found it: an emergency ax encased in its wall compartment.

He fired a few shots from his .45 to break the compartment glass; and was about to holster his gun when he noticed something alarming. His hand, no, his whole arm was shaking. He tensed himself to stabilize the tremor and it worked.

He grabbed the ax and trotted briskly back to Virg's room. He swung back with the thing and chopped at the deformed door.

A few dozen whacks and Paul had now created an opening good enough to pass through.

He entered the room and found Virg crouched in the corner, eyes unfocused and his entire body twitching.

"Come on, partner, we're leaving," Paul said with haste as he rushed to Virg and hoisted him to his feet. He kept his arm around his blind friend and led him speedily from the room.

But he didn't lead him toward the exit, instead, he directed him to where he knew Joey was being kept.

_If_ the boy was even still there. Who knows how many people might have been successfully evacuated...

But no, for some reason or other, Joey was left exactly where Paul had last seen him: catatonic in a bed.

"Stay by the kid," Paul said to Virg.

"Kid, what kid?" Virg asked.

"Just stay right by the bed for a second. I've got to find a gurney."

Virg did as he was instructed and said no more, as Paul raced away to find a moving bed. Once he found one, he retraced and loaded both Virg and Joey onto it. Virg was positioned in a sit while he rested the limp boy on his front.

The building was now on fire, and the three of them just made it out on time, before the lobby was engulfed in flame and smoke. Paul got the other two in the car and they peeled off and away, from the mangled and burning mess that was Parkridge.

As Paul suffered through the ever increasing obstacle course of mayhem to get back to his apartment, Virg asked again, "Who's the kid? Is this the one you tried to save—?"

"Yeah, that's him," Paul replied, steering with jerks left to right. "Joey's his name, I couldn't leave him there."

"Well, things must really be going to pot if they just left him. Where are we heading?"

"My place. Tab's there."

"Thank God."

"Yeah...Let's just hope my place is still there along with her."

Thankfully, it still was, and they found Tabitha still in bed, snoring away in deep slumber. Paul sat Virg down on his couch, then carried the boy into his bedroom and laid him down beside Tab.

Afterward, he went to the kitchen and the fridge to pull out two bottled beers. He reentered the living room, plopped himself on his recliner, and handed one beer to Virg. "Beer, pard."

Virg felt for it and took it to drink. "Oh God, that hits the spot."

They both sat there in silence for a moment, enjoying their beers and collecting their thoughts.

Then Virg spoke, "I'm, uh...I'm a little bit scared here, Paul. I don't know what that kid did to me, but I'm...I'm scared that this is it for me."

"You're not alone, I'm in the same boat, Virg."

"What do you mean?"

"One of those... _things_ got me."

"Are you...feeling the effects yet?"

"I'm starting to...Don't tell Tab, all right...at least not right away."

"Don't worry."

"Thanks."

Ten minutes later, Paul was in the kitchen tossing out the empty beer bottles when something struck his mind. He brought out his phone and looked up the "call log" on the display. He found the number he was looking for and tapped on it. The call went out and rang. A woman answered.

"Hello, detective."

"...Um, yes, Doctor Baxter...thank you for picking up. I want to apologize for my attitude earlier when we spoke. It seems, uh..."

"It seems you've seen some things that might have changed your mind in the past few hours, I'm assuming."

"...You...mentioned you were profiling me."

"That is correct, you and others."

"For what? I mean, you have some sort of plan for turning things around, in what is happening—what _is_ happening? You said chaos now had a face—or faces."

"Where are you now, detective?"

"At my apartment...myself along with three others."

"One of them wouldn't happen to be your partner, Virgil, would it?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. You been profiling him too?"

"Oh yes, both of you are prime candidates for our initiative."

" _What_ initiative?"

"The most crucial one either of you will ever be apart of, I guarantee you that. But it's a little heady to discuss over the phone, trust me. Do you have a way of getting to where I am now?"

"Yes."

"Good, now...this next question is crucial, detective, so please answer honestly, succinctly...Have you or the others been exposed, infected by any of these things walking around out there?"

"...Yes, me and Virg, both."

"But both of you are still lucid?"

"At this point, yes. But physical effects have occurred."

"Then you must get to where I am as soon as possible." Her tone was dead serious. "Because we don't have much time. Are the other two infected as well?"

"No, thank God."

"Good, then have one of them do the driving. I'm at a special laboratory funded by the CDC. Our location is not listed so follow my directions carefully."

After grabbing a pen and a small pad of paper to write on, Paul said, "Go ahead."

She laid it all out for him, street by street, as well as specifics on how to enter the lab.

He told her he was on his way and hung up. In the next moments he was wrangling everyone to get them loaded into the car as quick as possible. Baxter was likely right—time was short, and getting shorter.

Chapter 37

Paul sat next to Tab as she reluctantly and fearfully drove his car to the hidden lab.

It wasn't a stretch to say that the journey was quite treacherous and long. At least five times, Tab had to reroute them as they encountered people-crowded roads or wide cracks in the ground. Not to mention avoiding other cars that seemed to be driven by severely high or drunk individuals.

But somehow they reached their destination, as Paul had relayed it to her.

Only the building which was supposed to have resembled an old candy manufacturing plant—the one masking the special labs within it—was now a complete disaster area. It was mangled, inverted, twisted, punctured—uninhabitable by anything human.

And deathly agents stood all around it, as if waiting for something to possibly emerge from the stabbing wreckage.

One of them was the pale and disheveled boy. Paul recognized him right away. A chill ran through him.

"Was that supposed to be it?" Tab asked in a hesitant voice.

Only Paul didn't answer.

Instead, Virg, who had Joey laying across his lap in the back seat, asked, "What? What happened?" Still blind, he couldn't witness the destruction before them.

Suddenly, from Tab's driver's side peripheral, a woman in a white and trailing lab coat came sprinting toward the car. Tab turned wide-eyed to see the runner.

" _Paul..._ " Tab said in rising fear.

Paul looked past her and caught sight of the woman rapidly coming closer. "It's her, it's the doctor! Virg, get Joey up and move over!"

Virg did, and the back door opened quick to allow Dr. Baxter inside the backseat. As she slammed the door shut, she blasted, "Drive, go! Go!"

Tab blurted, "Where?!"

"Anyplace away from them!"

Tab didn't need much more incentive at this point, so she peeled away from the scene.

As the car plowed down a lesser known and more emptied street, Baxter tensely explained, "The bastards found us! Damn it all to hell, they found our lab and destroyed everything and...One of them must have heard the radio message from someone's car... _Damn it!_ " she repeated in mounting frustration.

Paul asked, "Radio message?"

"Yes, my colleague, Dr. Benton, he got himself over to a radio station outside of Windham Falls. And successfully transmitted a looped message over AM/FM frequencies. It says that certain individuals in the area must report to the lab; that they would be instrumental in turning the tide against these chaos agents."

"How many had shown up to the lab? How many of these selecteds?"

"...None...yet. Hopefully they'll show up and see what's happened, and turn away before being noticed."

"How the hell did you get out?"

"Fortunately, the CDC always provides an alternative exit in extreme emergencies. I took it and hid, waiting for you to show up."

Tab asked again, "Where are we going? I can't just drive around forever."

"Drive to Windham, we have to get over to the radio station and collect Dr. Benton. In fact, do any of you have a phone?"

Virg handed his to Baxter. She dialed a number and it picked up. A man answered.

"Hello?"

"Benton, it's me," Baxter said in haste. "Listen, I'm coming to you. We have to change the message...the lab has been destroyed, they found us."

"What—what about all the p—?"

"Not now, Max. Later."

"But—!"

"Listen, _please_ just get the message changed and aired, okay?!"

Through the phone, Benton sighed in anger, frustration. "...Okay, change it to _what_? What's our strategy now?"

"Before the lab went kaput, I was able to track a naval vessel moving inbound for the coast. Tell our people to head for the naval harbor."

"...All right, boss. Here's hoping it's not a floating nest of infecteds sailing our way."

"Right...See you soon, stay safe."

She hung up and gave the phone back to Virg. He felt for it and put it back in his coat.

Cora now noticed the sleeping boy in between herself and Virg; Joey's head lulled to one side. "Who is this?" she asked.

"Joseph," Paul answered, "He's in a coma, we'll have to get an IV in him as soon as possible. And we have to get his meds. I snagged some from the hospital but it won't last forever."

"A nephew?"

"Not quite."

"May as well be," Virg added. "Paul never walks away from a case."

Cora said, "Yes, I know...that's why I'm counting on him...and you, Detective Banks."

Yet again, Tab somehow successfully navigated them to the radio station on the outskirts of Windham Falls. They parked near the building and quickly got out of the car. Paul helped Virg toward the entrance while Baxter and Tab carried Joey inside. Through a small series of hallways that were absent of any station employees, they found the radio transmitting room—where Dr. Maxwell Benton stood holding a shotgun in the ready.

"Ease up, Max, it's just us." Baxter said to her jumpy colleague.

"Sorry. You sure you weren't followed?"

"No. I haven't seen any of those things drive a car yet."

"Doesn't mean they can't or won't. Anyway, if you say you weren't followed, you weren't followed." He placed the shotgun on the console behind him. "I'm Dr. Benton," he said to the unfamiliars.

They greeted him back—with the exception of Joey, of course.

Then Baxter asked, "Did you record a new message?"

"Yes, it's already gone out on a loop over the airwaves."

Baxter sighed in relief. "Good, thanks."

"You're welcome. Now tell me about the people we already had—"

"Max, it's best if we concentrate on getting to the harbor—"

" _What_ happened to them, Cora?" Benton's eyes pierced.

"What is he talking about?" Paul interrupted.

Baxter blinked as she drew in a fluttering, harrowing breath, let it out. "They were on us fast, Max, I couldn't bring everyone back to a waking state and get out of the building in time."

Max stabbed with, "So, you just left them there?!"

"Their bodies, yes, I had no choice!" she defended, though not with a complete certainty of conviction. It was clear she was at war with herself.

Paul insisted, " _What_ are you two talking about?"

Benton elaborated tensely, "We're talking about the people we had already tapped to undergo the process of transmigration. They were _in_ the lab."

"How many?" Paul asked with a disturbed brow.

"Thirty-four."

" _Yes, thirty-four,_ Max," Baxter emphasized to back her point, "How was I going to pull back all of them? But listen, listen, just because their bodies are gone, that doesn't mean that they're still not fighting for us."

Virg spoke up with, "I'm sorry, I'm still lost here. You said transmigration? What exactly are you meaning with that?"

"Yeah, explain that," Paul agreed. "We still don't even know what we're doing here with you people."

Baxter swung to face Paul. "All right...this is going to sound quite literally batshit crazy to you, but I swear to you it's no less the absolute truth.

"Let me ask you a simple question: when you dream, do your dreams always make sense to you?"

"Usually no," Paul admitted.

"No, there is a level of incoherency and disjointedness in the chain of perceived events within the mind.

"A Doctor Sasha Cole, who was our mentor, theorized that this nonsensical and often chaotic element within our dreams stemmed from a bio-electrical transmission _not_ from within our _own_ minds...but from a source of something _else_ entirely."

Paul shook his head a bit in frustration and confusion. "...Okay...like what?"

"A plane not of our own," Benton cut in, "A plane or dimension constructed wholly of the existence of total chaos, disorder—utter madness."

"Yes, that was Cole's theory," Baxter continued, "And with both of our help, he went about attempting to validate his supposition; claiming that the science was sound. The mind's synapses and neural pathways are receivers of stimuli, built primarily to run the body's systems. But if the mind is in a stasis condition—such as REM sleep—the synaptic elements of the brain can be open to stimuli from realities _other_ than our own.

"Now...Dr. Cole passed away two years ago just when he was on the cusp of a breakthrough in proving his theory."

"That's right," Benton corroborated, "But Cora and I didn't want his work to be lost when he was on the verge of a major discovery: proof of the existence of other dimensions. So we continued on...and even found that it was possible not only to receive patterns of bio-electrical energy from this plane of existence—but, with a special formula we created, actually transmit _our_ neural patterns to this other dimension...transmigrate."

"You can't be serious," Paul said.

"We are. We've done it, it has worked."

"How do you know?" asked Virg.

"Because," Baxter said, "I brought Benton through to that dimension. And back."

"Oh, come on," Tab blurted in disbelief.

"No, she's not lying," Benton stated in all seriousness. "I then sent her through too, and she described the same things I saw over there. It wasn't a delusion of the mind. It was real."

"So, that's what you want us for, isn't it?" Paul initiated. "To take this wonder drug of yours and send our...consciousnesses over to this...other place or world or whatever, and...what, tell these creepy bastards to stop invading our world? Is that your grand plan for saving us?"

"Yeah," Virg agreed, "I don't know what you hope to accomplish with Paul and I, but I doubt we could do any good with the shape we're—"

"No, there's where you're wrong," Baxter corrected with vigor. "Both you and Detective Danford have proven time and again that you two are the most clear-headed, focused, and determined individuals in the world today. We've studied you extensively, and if anyone can help us turn the tide against the effects of this other dimension, it's people like you."

"But...we're infected, both Paul and I, with whatever virus these things have brought over to us."

"What?" Tab said in shock as she turned to Paul.

"I'm sorry, Paul," Virg said in earnest regret, "I had to say something at this point."

Still staring at Paul with widened eyes, Tab uttered, "...You're infected?"

Paul nodded with a pained expression. "Haven't you noticed that I've been shaky in the past few hours?"

"I just thought it was nerves...When did it happen?" Her eyes were becoming moist with tears.

"When I left you to go get Virg and the boy. I ran into one of those things..."

"Oh God, Paul, _no_..." She rushed to embrace him with a force. He put his arms firmly around her in return.

"This thing," Virg continued, "has got a hold on us...It's too late, I'm sorry—"

"No," Baxter amended him again, "It's hit your bodies first. It _will_ eventually work its way to your minds—and if you didn't have such strong ones to begin with, it likely would have taken over much quicker. But now it means that we have to administer our formula as soon as possible— _before_ it takes over your minds."

"Well then," Virg started, "let's do it, what are we waiting f—?"

"It's not that simple," Benton revealed, warned. "Once the bio-chemical compound is administered and your neural energies are transferred, your bodies will be left with nothing to regulate them. They will die within minutes. We need to be able to hook you up to life support apparatuses to keep your bodies functioning."

"That's assuming our bodies will be worth saving," Virg added.

"That's why we have to get to the harbor and on to the naval vessel's medical center as quick as possible," Baxter responded, "If things can be turned around in time..."

"Well then, let's go!" Tab grated with anger over her crying and falling tears, " _Now!_ "

"She's right," Benton concurred with haste, "Let's move."

Chapter 38

Benton drove this time because he knew exactly where the naval harbor was located. But, like Tab, he had to take long ways around to achieve their destination. Clearly, the situation on the streets was worsening by the hour; and all in the car who were conscious desperately hoped they could reach the naval ship in time. Tab especially. Inwardly, she was almost in a state of panic.

It turned out, ironically, that their extended journey to the harbor proved to be good timing. The ship was pulling in, only about ten minutes to docking, and that meant there was less time in sitting and waiting.

But both detectives and pair of scientists knew it would not be that easy to get on board the ship. It might take some convincing to whoever ran the boat that their mission was valid. And not, as Baxter termed it, batshit crazy. But if the captain knew of their project...

Ten minutes later, the ship itself had not docked but remained about a quarter mile out. Instead, a much smaller boat with a gun turret attached to its rear section plowed surf toward the docking port. Four soldiers outfitted in full-body environmental protection gear—along with assault rifles—were sitting in the fast moving boat.

Benton and the others got out of the car and approached the compact boat as it slowed and bumped into the harbor port. The naval patrol jumped from their craft and cautiously moved toward the group.

When both crews got within twenty feet of each other, one of the soldiers spoke through his suit's circular mouth filter. "That's far enough. Please state your intentions."

Benton looked at Baxter and told her, "I'll speak to them." She nodded, and he turned back to the soldiers. "My name is Dr. Maxwell Benton. I'm with Project Straight Arrow, a CDC special designate. Your captain should know of it. If not, he can gain clearance for it."

"Project Straight Arrow, you said?" the faceless soldier speakered back.

"Yes, sir."

"Hold on." He motioned for the other three riflemen to keep their gun-sights on the group while he walked back a good ten feet. His back to all, he pulled out his walkie-talkie and spoke into it. Paul and the others couldn't make out what was being said.

After a minute of conversing, the man replaced his radio to hook on his belt and walked back to his men. "Dr. Benton, your voice sounds familiar. Were you the one who made the radio messages?"

"I am, yes."

"Then I take it you need our medical facilities."

"Yes, sir, if possible."

"What's wrong with the boy?" the soldier flatly asked, referring to Joey, who was being held vertical by the support of Paul and Baxter.

Paul answered, "He has severe asthma. We need to get him an IV and his medication administered as soon as possible."

"Is any one of you infected?"

"No," replied Benton. It was agreed by the group beforehand that to gain access to the ship, they would need to lie to the crew. At least for the time being.

The man in charge of the point patrol remained silent for a few breath-catching seconds. But then finally said, "All right, get aboard. Be careful stepping on."

Benton and the rest headed forth and followed the solders to their gunboat. Baxter and Paul worked together to carry Joey while Tab led Virg in the right direction. Once all were aboard, the boat backed out and jetted a u-turn to stream toward the hulking U.S.S. Yorktown.

Captain Madison made his way from the bridge of the Yorktown to its medical bay. In the course of the walk, Madison contemplated the importance of the relayed information from the White House. From the President himself. Project Straight Arrow apparently was now priority one—and not just with the governing bodies of America, but the entire globe. Evidently a sect of scientists was executing the project on every continent, in every country. Anyplace that could recreate the necessary formula compound, and inject it into viable candidates.

To Madison the project sounded like fantasy land, hocus pocus, science fiction, something that would send his son into nirvana overdrive... _If_ his boy might still be alive. And if he was, hopefully he would be huddled away somewhere out of the way with his mother. Somewhere secluded and safe. He hoped with all that he was that this was true.

And science fictional or not, Madison was not going to question the validity of the project's procedures and goals. The order to cooperate came from the commander in chief himself, and those orders simply weren't second guessed. Ever.

Besides, Madison was not a scientist who specialized in molecular tomfoolery and tweaking. Clearly he had to defer to the two neural and genetic specialists he now had waiting for him in medical. It was their show, he would just do his best to make sure Larabee understood the utmost crucialness of their work. Because somehow, someway, these scientific labcoat types might just end up saving the whole damn planet...that is if there was enough of it left to save.

But this whole other dimension business, Madison simply couldn't fathom that bit. But then again, what the hell did he know about such things? Forty years ago, when the good captain was only 14 years old, many things that seemed so farfetched and the stuff of celluloid trickery were now everyday realities.

He entered the medical bay to find that a group of predominantly unknown faces had now populated the room. Larabee was there and snapped to attention as he realized Madison had arrived.

"Captain," Larabee acknowledged as he saluted.

Madison saluted back and looked at the others, just as they turned to witness his presence. "Dr. Benton, Dr. Baxter, I'm Captain John Madison. Welcome aboard the Yorktown."

"Thank you, captain," said both Benton and Baxter.

Then Baxter said, "Captain, these are Detectives Paul Danford and Virgil Banks." The state policemen nodded at Madison. "This is Tabitha, and the boy lying down is Joey."

"What's wrong with the boy?" Madison asked with a concerned brow.

"Acute asthma, he's currently in a coma which is why he's receiving intravenous feeding. He's been medicated also."

"And he's not infected?"

"No."

"Who are your test subjects?"

"Paul and Virgil...and myself."

"All right, let's get you set up then. You have been informed of what's involved, yes?"

"Yes," Baxter answered for Benton, "but I feel it would be of great importance if while we're getting them situated, that we get into more of the specifics of the process and what to expect. After they transcend."

"Very well. Larabee, if you will assist."

"Aye, captain. But if I could raise a concern—with all that's happening out there, sir, is this compound that they're taking—?"

"I understand your concerns, lieutenant, but this directive to fully cooperate comes straight from the top. And time is short."

"Aye, sir." And with that, Larabee helped Baxter and Tab get Benton, Virg, and Paul laid down and hooked up to life support apparatuses.

Once it was completed, Baxter pulled out from inside her labcoat a small teardropper full of amber liquid. She held it up and said, "This is the compound. I'm going to put a few drops into your eyes. Within minutes you will be asleep and your neural-electrical energies will be compelled to transcend, to transmigrate into a realm that you never thought possible...And I'm going to tell you now what Benton and I already know...When you enter this plane, this other existence, you will be thrust into the living embodiment of chaos.

"It-it pulses, alternating from a disorienting darkness of grayish brown or blackish purple, to millions of flashing instances of chaotic, confusing visions and sounds. It seems without end, overlapping—and overwhelming. It is pure madness come to life. And throughout all of this are droves of these...spores of bright energy. And this is where it gets dicey: they will seek you out and engulf your consciousness...And make you relive some of the most troubling and confusing moments of your lives. It will saturate your neural energies, you will _believe_ that it is the happening...and you won't be able to recognize that it's false. Do you get me?" They nodded gravely, understanding. "But you can't get lost in these spores. You _must_ brake free of them to achieve your goal."

"What _is_ our goal, doctor?" Paul asked with impatience, tension.

"Every galaxy has a sun, Paul, a source from what everything revolves. The same ironically applies for this other realm. Both Benton and I saw it. Find this source, and help the others who have already transmigrated to kill it, weaken it, whatever will stop what's happening over here."

"Question," Virg spoke up as Baxter was applying the drops, "How did you two happen to make it back here if these 'spores', as you put it, caught you? And how does one make it back here at all?"

"It wasn't easy," Benton thickly answered the first part. "It took every ounce of focus we had to break free of the spore's influence. And we didn't stay long. The amount of formula we took was a quite small amount, and soon your mind turns into a receptor again, calling you back." He looked off for moment of despondency. "unfortunately, even if our plan works, those whose bodies died at the lab—"

"Benton, _please!_ " Baxter barked.

"You're right, I'm sorry, you're right."

"No...I'm sorry," she said, calmer, though still tense. "I'm sorry for all of this, what you now must do. None of you asked for this...

"You should be getting drowsy, the three of you," she stated, blinking away the fog of darkness from her thoughts, or at least pushing it aside.

And it was apparent that the men were. Their eyes began to bat repeatedly, until the blinking slow-motioned into fully closed eyes.

But they weren't totally under just yet, as Paul proved when he drearily said to Baxter, "Don't beat yourself up, doc..."

But seconds after that, it was clear that the three men were completely under, slumbering with slowed breathing.

The captain asked, "How long before they...you know, go over to this other...?"

Baxter replied, "They will enter REM sleep faster than normal, say, in the next three minutes. Then the neurons that are receptive to patterns from this particular plane of existence will act as transmitters."

"And the brain's electrical whatever will be sent over to...over _there_ , I see..." Madison gathered, comprehended.

"You get the general idea, yes."

"Well," he said and sighed heavy, "I reckon it's our best shot then. Because from the numerous reports we've gotten from around the globe, combating that world's...whatever they are—"

"You might as well call them agents of chaos, captain. Because that's essentially what they are."

He tossed a hand out to her in a "very well, I accept that" gesture. "—these agents of chaos...clearly we are losing the war with them. Your theory is...go after the heart of these things—"

"And their power is lost—or at least, greatly reduced. And their virus will have little or no effect."

"Banger of a theory there, doc...I hope you're correct in your assumptions," he said with a touch of warning—and fear. "I'll be on the bridge, doc, lieutenant. Keep me apprised, will you?"

"Aye, captain," Larabee acknowledged.

And Madison left the room leaving Tab, Larabee, and Baxter with looks of their own fears and apprehensions.

And for Tab, a stab of an accusing gaze at Baxter.

Chapter 39

_Thank God, it's still there,_ Avery thought as he drove his family nearer to the naval harbor, and the now docked Yorktown. _Thank God it hasn't been mangled and crushed like the CDC's covert lab._

Avery and his wife and children had been trying to find a way out of the city—and having no success for all roadways had been clogged with cars—when he heard the original radio message.

Against his family's protest, Avery decided to heed the message's call. After all, his name was on the list of people included in the recording. The list of the selected. And because, of course, the recording tempted a solution to the growing plague of anarchy and wholesale destruction. How could Avery, a dedicated public servant, refuse such a call.

But, like Paul and company, Avery arrived too late to the labs. Thankfully, he'd kept the radio on and heard the revised message informing all candidates to head for the naval harbor.

And so here he was, thanking the good Lord above that he and his reluctant family had made it to a location that was still in intact. Where there was still a glimmer of hope that this disaster could be salvaged or even remedied.

"Ave," his wife said to him as he slowed to a stop thirty feet from the port. "How come there's no one here?"

"Can't say," Avery responded sort of absently as he stared out the car's windshield at the massive Yorktown before him.

"Maybe they had to leave," Avery's son spoke up, suggested. "Maybe it's dangerous here, dad."

"Maybe we should leave too, dad," his daughter added in haste.

His wife said, "Maybe she's right, Ave. There should be some peop—"

"There," Avery blurted and pointed toward the ship.

His wife and kids stared out at what Avery was pointing at, and witnessed a tiny figure emerge fully into view on the deck of the ship. It was a woman in naval fatigues and she was looking through binoculars, looking back at them.

Avery got out of the car, despite the loud protests of his family. Though he did keep the door open.

The woman soldier lowered her binoculars and raised a bullhorn to her mouth. Through it, her voice was greatly amplified. "Mr. Chen! Please stay where you are! I have to ask before you can board, are you or any of the individuals with you infected with the virus, or feeling sick in any way?!"

Avery shook his head.

"You _sure,_ Mr. Chen?!"

He nodded.

"Mr. Chen, can your group please exit the car and come fully into view?!"

He motioned for his family to get out and stand by him. Again, reluctantly, fearfully, they did so.

The soldier eyed the family through her binoculars once more, closely observing and examining the group for visual signs of sickness of any kind. When she was confident that the family looked supremely healthy, she lowered the binoculars and spoke through the bullhorn: "Mr. Chen, please remain where you are! A team will come for you shortly!"

Avery nodded again.

And within minutes, a team came for them, and brought them aboard. The captain was waiting for them.

"Councilman Chen, welcome aboard the U.S.S. Yorktown. I'm Captain John Madison. This is your family, I presume."

Avery replied, "My wife, Jinn, and my children, Mae Lin and Thuan. Thank you for having us."

"My pleasure. I wish circumstances were better."

"So do I. Are Doctors Baxter and Benton with you?"

"They are, among others who have answered the call and are already participating in Project Straight Arrow."

"Straight Arrow?"

Madison launched into the whole of what was involved with the project—and what it hoped to achieve. Then he admitted, "I know it sounds completely asinine and preposterous. But I look out there and see that the world is being taken apart by a force beyond reason or comprehension, and one resorts to the incredible for a solution.

"But now the question is, Mr. Chen, can you be persuaded to participate in something this outlandish in nature."

Avery looked at his wife and children—though he knew the reaction he would receive from them, the fear they would show him. "Seems pretty farfetched, the whole thing, doesn't it," he said to them.

"But you're going to go through with it anyway," Jinn said, as if completing his thought.

"What choice do I have...if it has even the slightest chance of turning things around—"

"Captain!" the comms officer blasted, "Lieutenant Foster reports she has spotted a group of those things a quarter mile out from the port!"

Madison swung back around from facing the comms officer to eye Avery. "Councilman, I need your decision."

"...Get me to the medical bay," Avery finalized.

"Mary? Are you awake?"

In recovery—and the oppressive haze of the loss of their sister—Martha and Mary had elected to rest most of their stay aboard the Yorktown. After a day of convalescence in the medical bay, Larabee had found them a cabin to occupy. Though it was compact and a bit cramped, two beds were able to fit fairly well within the room.

"Mary?" Martha asked again.

"...Hm?" Mary replied absently as she rose from slumber.

"Something's happening."

"...What—like what?"

"I've heard a lot of fast running boots go by the cabin just now."

"...Well...then it's best that we stay put, there's nothing _we_ can do about it."

Martha looked about with her eyes, contemplating the validity of Mary's conclusion on the matter. Was she right...? Perhaps, but Martha wasn't keen on staying in another claustrophobic space if what happened to the ocean liner was soon to occur aboard the Yorktown.

And something in Martha knew she had to know more about the situation.

If she could just convince her sister to move....

Chapter 40

Crossing into the more congested and building-heavy sections of New York, Marta and the kids did their best to avoid the more frenzied scenes. If there was a back road or alleyway that looked vacated—and not totally ground ripped-up or boulder littered—then that was their chosen route.

Marta had found the address of her aunt and uncle, but no one was home, and the place had been ransacked.

Eventually, Marta decided to try the radio to see if any emergency shelters might be broadcasted for specified locations in the area. After a search of AM and FM stations, she finally came upon Benton's looped message—the revised one, thankfully—and listened intently along with the children.

Once they heard the entire message, Marta slowed to a stop and turned off the radio. "I wonder...will they take people who aren't on their list?"

"They should take _you_ , Roddy," Celia announced to her brother.

"Why, what would I do for them?" Roddy asked in earnest.

" _Come on,_ brother, look what you did to that half-headed freak. You made it whine like a three-year-old!"

"How do you know that was me?"

"It was you," Celia said with finality, then looked at Marta and asked, "Right, don't _you_ think?"

Marta turned about from the driver's seat and stared intently at Roddy. "...Yeah, I actually do."

"But it's not just Roddy, Marta. Look what you did with that sicko pervert, Gael. You put a bullet in his head at a long distance. And don't forget, the cracks in the earth stopped at _your_ feet too.

"I bet you two that whatever it is they're doing to fight these things, both of you should be there. Bet you a million bucks."

Marta turned back around and faced the view in front of her. Though she wasn't really focused on the alleyway ahead; instead she was seriously considering Celia's proposal. "...Well then, let's go find out what they're really doing." And she drove them on.

Chapter 41

Kenneth was freaked. No, that was an understatement, he was practically petrified out of his mind.

He had finally gone home. Not home back in Montana, and not home in the warehouse, but home where his sister kept residence. Where _he_ had once lived with Delia and her military husband. And the home where he had apparently fathered a child.

But Kenneth couldn't find his younger sister anywhere in the house. At least, nowhere visible. There were still the attic and basement sections of the house. Kenneth checked the attic first and found only what he knew to be there years ago: the whole space packed full of boxes and insulation lining.

In the basement he found her, however, curled up and mumbling to herself. She was nestled in a darkened corner underneath a table, a blanket covering her entire being. Kenneth pulled the table out and tried to remove the blanket from around Delia. But she fought him violently to stay hidden from his view.

As he yanked at the blanket, he hollered, "Delia! Dee! It's me! It's Kenneth!"

Still struggling, Delia screeched, "No! You're them! You're The Destroyers! Green Sky was right! They were RIGHT!!!"

"Stop it, Delia! Stop it, girl! It's really me, Delia, damn it, STOP!"

It wasn't long before he was winning the blanket tug-of-war, and revealing his pallid sister. She obviously hadn't eaten in a while. Even when he finally pulled the covering entirely off her, she still gyrated in kicks and swings, shouting about Green Sky and "The Destroyers."

"Delia! _Delia!_ _Look_ at me! It's Kenneth, for cripesake!"

She flailed and ranted for a few seconds longer before finally getting the courage to focus on what was truly standing before her. Her eyes zigzagged manically about his form, attempting to bring some coherence to her vision. "...Ken...Kenneth? Oh God, is that really you?"

"Yeah, it's really me, listen...listen, I don't know what's really happening, but things are coming apart out there. I had to find you."

"...Please..." Her face began to crumple in tears. "...please don't be one of them..."

"I'm nothing more than your brother. That's all I've ever been."

And then her face wrenched, she sobbed inconsolably. "...Oh Kenneth...why did you leave...? We needed you..." She held out her arms to him in a sort of limp-handed, lame fashion.

He fell down to her embrace and held her somewhat firmly, like one would a wounded and suffering animal. "You know why I had to go...Honey...where's Mikey? If you know where he is, we have to go find him."

But she shook her head as she cried on. "...I don't know...I don't know...he's lost...he's lost to us..."

A chill ran up Kenneth's spine. He had heard this sort of thing before. But not from his sister.

"Stay with me," she pleaded shakily through spasming sobs, "The Destroyers are coming, I've seen them, I've seen them..."

"I don't know what's really happening, Dee...but I don't think it has anything to do with what they taught us."

"...They were right...they were right..."

Kenneth wanted to refute her a second time. But he was afraid to say anything more.

Chapter 42

At first, Paul imagined he was dreaming of utter chaos—millions upon millions of instances of confusion, indecision, and anarchistic acts of madness and destruction. But then there was a brilliant flash of light and he woke up. And opened his eyes to a supreme moment of his own turmoil.

Paul was twenty and fresh out of community college—and desperate to become a cop and make a difference in a world that was spiraling out of control.

There was, however, just one glaring problem affecting his decision to enter the police academy.

His father was dying, wasting away with pancreatic cancer—of which, the family was deftly aware, had no chance of being treated. He was going to die, and he didn't have years or months or even weeks, but hours to go before his light went out for good.

But before he was to pass on, Blake Danford wished to impart to his young and eager son his desire to have him pursue a life in medicine. "Become a doctor, Paul. Be a part of a better solution in this world," Blake urged his boy as the now boney and paled elder man lay in his hospital bed. "You...you have your grandfather's propensity for being on the edge of things. And I know you would make a good cop but...I saw what that life did to my father, Paul...It changed him in a way that made the whole family suffer needlessly...Please, Paul, I beg of you...A life in medicine can have rewards beyond your greatest hopes."

"Yeah, but dad," Paul countered gingerly, "doctors...don't they work impossible hours, with no time for their families?"

"So do cops, Paul. For lousy pay, and they put their lives on the line every second of those long hours. And then the drinking or the drugs will start to deal with the crushing stress of the job."

"Come on, dad, give me a little credit. I'm not going to self destruct like that."

You will, Paul. They all do. And for what? A terrible pension and a miserable, lonely life. But medicine, Paul...son, doctors can be discoverers of breakthroughs in better ways to save lives...Maybe you could be part of a team that cures cancer once and for all...Maybe even the kind that is inoperable."

"Aw, dad..." Paul's face twisted up in anguish and regret. But also conflict and confusion.

"...Please...just think things over carefully, son."

Virg burst his eyes open after a moment through a maddening mosaic of chaos. He found himself as a boy in the throws of a major dilemma plaguing his young life.

Virgil Sr. and Cassie Banks simply couldn't stand each other anymore, and their divorce was a forgone and imminent conclusion. But it wasn't just the divorce that was tearing the family in two; Cassie had found a new employment opportunity over in upstate New York. It just happened to be roughly two hundred miles away from where the Banks' lived now. Which meant that if Virg Jr. stayed with his mother, he would have to move to a new city, a new school, and find new friends.

And Virg Jr. clearly didn't want to do that. He was fourteen and, for lack of a better description, madly in love with his current friends. They were his life's blood, his only source of real joy in his otherwise agonizing life. Agonizing, of course, because his parents' fights and ranting over dreams squashed were crushing the boy's spirit. His parents may have not been able to stand each other anymore, but Virg simply couldn't take it either.

But if he was honest with himself, he preferred his father over his mother, with her manic mood swings and blatant flirtations with other men—that simply made the boy cringe.

Yet he knew if he didn't go with his mother, she would be all alone in a place where there were no family or friends to keep her company. She would have to start all over again, a woman of forty-five having to go back to square one in her life. Virg didn't know if he could be that cruel to a mother who had done the best she could, with who she was, for her son.

Virg Sr. had his whole family around him, his whole friend base from his early days of growing up. They all lived and worked and played in and around the same city. And Virg Sr. already had a long established job that paid quite well. He saw no reason to uproot himself from the life and area he already knew. And he wanted his namesake to stay put too, quite frankly. He didn't want his only son being raised far away from the majority of his relatives.

"Listen, boy, if you wanna stay around here, that's fine with me," Virg Sr. imparted to his son in private. "Don't let your mother guilt you into uprooting your entire life because she happens to be batshit crazy."

Virg Jr. didn't respond, though, as adamantly as he wanted to stay right where he was, part of him felt the pull to be his mother's saving grace. Certainly she was set on taking her teen son with her when her new job started in two weeks. As they say, a son should be with his mother—and besides, as Cassie put it, "Aren't you ready for a new start, a new adventure? I know I am."

But young Virg only placated his mom with an unenthusiastic, noncommittal, "Sure...I guess so."

Young Virg had always been a person of certainty and focus, always making the choices that made the most sense, and improving his situation as a result.

But now he was trapped in the greatest dilemma of indecision he had ever faced...And he honestly, surprisingly did not know what to do....

Chapter 43

The agents were gathered now, in a crooked line at the edge of the naval harbor's port, facing blankly in the direction of the hulking Yorktown. They seemed to be waiting. Perhaps for more of their sickening brethren to arrive. Perhaps just strangely admiring what they planned to annihilate. Or maybe they wanted to see what would happen, what the great warship would do to combat their siege.

They didn't have long to wait. A giant cannon mounted on the front deck of the Yorktown suddenly whirred to life and fast aimed on the deathly figures. It fired a powerful mortar round at them and the ground exploded beneath their feet. The wretched gathering was immediately thrust high into the air, dispersing in different directions. They landed harshly, far from where they had stood. Two ended up in the water on either side of the ship.

Although they looked burnt and blackened, every single one of the decrepit figures eventually rose to their feet or swam to shore. And came back together again, returning their bland stares at the ship.

Now the soldiers began to emerge from different locations on the front deck. They were armed with assault rifles and .45's. They employed the rifles first, opening fire on the rejoined agents. The firing was fierce and the shooters expert marksmen. They met their targets with every round expelled.

But the bullets merely made random holes in the rotting flesh of the agents. Affecting them no more than if the bullets were a hard rain.

Madison and his bridge crew were observing from the command center, hoping for the best yet knowing to expect the worst. They had read numerous reports and witnessed video clips from other sieges in different parts of the world. The result was always the same—exactly what had just occurred. Still, it was best to try.

"Keep firing as many mortar rounds as we have," Madison ordered. "Have to keep them off balance for as long as possible."

"Aye, captain," weapons control responded.

Another mortar round slammed the agents into the air again. Moments later they reformed into the crooked line.

Another massive round loudly bounded them into the air.

Again and again, the same result.

The ship only had so many rounds to expend....

Chapter 44

"He's going quickly, son," Paul's mother announced to her mentally quagmired boy. The anxiety and indecision plagued his every conscious thought. "He's taken a turn for the worse, Dr. Boranz said. His vitals are dropping. Your father's asking for you again. Please go see him, Paul."

Young Paul held his mother by the forearms and looked down, nodding. He gave her a quick but firm hug then made his way across the hall to his father's hospital room.

Paul approached his bedside and sat in a chair next to it. He stared gravely at his beloved father's gaunt face, his father stared slowly back. "Paul...son...did you...think on...what I told you?" His breathing was strained, wheezing.

Paul's eyes darted about. He swallowed hard. "Dad, I...I don't know what to say...I want to be respectful of your wishes but...I also want to be a cop so bad..."

"You'll regret it, boy...You'll see things...You'll change...not for the better..."

"But it's gotta be my decision, doesn't it?" Paul tried gingerly.

"I thought...at your age...that I wanted to be...a lawyer...but then my love for animals..."

"Made you want to be the vet that you are, I know, dad, I know priorities change over time, but—"

"My point is...don't be so...quick...to make...important...decisions..."

Blake couldn't say anymore for his breathing was becoming too difficult. His energy was also depleting and he closed his eyes, though Paul knew that he was still conscious.

"I'll try, dad," Paul offered, and he saw his father nod twice as best he could.

Paul stayed with his father in silence for the next three hours, until, at last, Blake Danford passed away. His mother was also in the room at the time of the passing, and both had said their tearful, painful goodbyes.

While the orderlies and the nurses were unhooking Blake's body from the IV's and other equipment, Paul and his mother stood in the hall facing one another.

"He loved you so much, Paul, more than most things on this earth," his mother said as she wiped at her moist eyes with one hand. The other held a hand of Paul's quite firmly.

"I know, mom," Paul said back.

"He only wanted what was best for you in life, he never wanted you to be miserable and fall into the traps of the world."

"I know."

"Did you...did you tell him you were going into medicine?" she asked with restrained hope.

Paul looked away, distraught.

"Paul, what did you tell him?" A bit of tension entered her tone.

"...I told him I would try to think it over—"

"So you didn't listen to him at all, did you?" she accused.

"Mom, this is not the time—"

"Now you listen to me! If you become a cop, you will regret it, maybe not right away but wait a few years when the job has its hooks in you. And the scum of this earth haunt your nightmares and rob you of your humanity."

"Mom, listen—"

"It'll _happen_ , Paul, and you will end up penniless in the end. Because the wife and kids who will eventually leave you will take it all, every last red cent that you earn, which won't be much to begin with. Either that or you'll end up alone and bitter, trying to put away filth that's too clever to be caught. Do you think that your father and I would ever want that for you?!

"Go to medical school, become a trusted doctor, and in ten to fifteen years you could open your own private practice, Paul," she firmly impressed upon him. "That would mean normal hours and making good money to put your kids through college and give them nice things.

"I'm begging you not to be so selfish with your life! Think of who might come along one day, people you might not be able to do without!

"Let the power hogs and the mental cases be the cops of the world, Paul...Make a better choice with your life—"

But suddenly, Paul broke from her grasp and backed away with anguish twisting his face. He blurted, "You _can't_ make this decision for me! _Neither_ of you can!" And he stormed away, leaving his mother shocked and speechless.

Finally, she uttered, " _Paul_..." just as he rounded a corner and disappeared from view.

"Well it's only a few days away from the move, Virgy," Cassie Banks reminded her highly conflicted son. "What's it gonna be, sweetie? If you're coming with me then you have to tell me now. Because if so, we have to start packing up your room." She gave him the ultimatum as they ate lunch at a restaurant.

Which Virg saw as a strategic move on his mother's part: she could dole out her guilt on her son with the reduced possibility of Virg causing a scene.

"Well...?" she pressed him.

"Can't I just finish my lunch first?" Virgy tried to delay.

"Sure. Of course."

Unfortunately, Virg only had a few more bites of his lasagna left before he would thoroughly be done with his meal.

Once he had completed his dish, his mother said, "Okay. Tell me."

Virg blew an oppressive breath and opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't say anything right away. He was so mentally pulled in two opposing directions. "I...I cant give you an answer..."

"Look, honey, it's not like I won't be able to continue taking care of you up there. I'll be making enough money to support us both."

"But what about my studies, mom? My friend, Jeannie, she helps me out so much with my science work."

"I'll help you out with it."

"Do you know anything about science?"

"Not a damn thing, but there's the internet. We'll learn it together. And besides, I know you, you're whip-smart. So don't use your friends as an excuse. Listen, if you don't like me then just say so, I'm a grown up, I can take it."

"It's nothing like that, it's just..."

"It's just that you prefer your father, right? Just admit it so we can get it out in the open."

" _No_ , that's not true—listen, I like both you _and_ dad, okay? That's why this is so hard, all right? I don't hate either of you."

"Well, I don't understand how you couldn't have some resentment for him, your father is such a smug and selfish bastard. I mean, there's no reasoning with him whatsoever. He just does what he wants and lets the chips fall where they may for everyone else."

"He does try to be good to you though."

"Yeah, only to make up for all the rotten, careless stuff he pulls time and again."

"But at least he never cheated on you."

"Yeah, as far as we know. Listen, I'm not gonna argue this with you, are you coming with me or not?"

Virg said nothing.

Chapter 45

Avery and his family were led to the medical bay by a Corporal Barnes. Once they arrived, Barnes introduced the Chen's to Larabee, Tab, and Baxter. Soon after, Barnes left for the bridge again. And Jinn and the children were almost in a state of panic with the scene before them: three bedded people hooked up to life support machines...and knowing that Avery was next.

"Mr. Chen, there's not a moment to waste," Baxter prodded Avery. "Let's get you into a bed and get you hooked up."

Avery began to move forward but Jinn threw out her hands to hold him back, as she fearfully said, "Okay, what if it all happens like this woman is saying it does, what if you get lost over there? What if you don't make it back to us?"

"Then that's what happens," Avery tensely, firmly replied. "I'll sacrifice myself if it means I can save you and the children. And anyone else who can be saved."

She pulled him close and hugged him fiercely. "I can't let you do this."

He drew his head back to force her to face him, then drew in quickly to kiss her with pressing lips. He held the massaging kiss with her for a good few seconds. Then he hugged her tight once more, saying, "I'll make it back...if it's at all possible, I will. Now stay strong and I'll see you soon."

She nodded quickly, reluctantly, then they broke from each other and Avery faced the children.

"Now you two," Avery began, "you're responsible for guiding me back if I get lost or into trouble. You keep me on track, okay?"

Mae-Lin and Thuan nodded in silent fear, then Avery hugged his kids with all the love he had for them.

"Mr. Chen, please, if you would. We can't wait any longer," Baxter pleaded.

Reluctantly, Avery released his son and daughter from his grasp and made his way over to a bed. Where Baxter and Larabee had him lie down and began prepping his body and mind for the journey.

A journey for which all knew full well that he might not return.

"They keep firing their big gun!" Martha said as she paced in a short back and forth, fidgeting. "The ship is being attacked, Mary, I can feel it."

Mary sat on her cabin bed with her legs folded up and her arms around them, she looked wide-eyed, petrified. Her older sister continued her stunted pacing a few feet from her.

"You think it's those things, don't you?" Mary asked.

"Yeah, I do," Martha responded adamantly.

"What do you want to do, then?

"First, I want to go back to the medical bay to see if Larabee is there, and if he can tell us exactly what _is_ happening. And if it is what I think it is, then we have to find a way off this ship. I won't sit here and wait for the room to close in around us and crush us!"

"...All right, then...Let's go."

The two bone-white twins flowed effortlessly through the thick of the Atlantic Ocean, heading westward. Up ahead lay the naval harbor and the docked Yorktown. The twins muffled white noise simultaneously from their yawned mouths, then shot on faster through the murky depths of the sea.

It was only a matter of a few minutes before they had reached the waterline base of the ship's hull. From there they began their jerking climb of ascension.

"Larabee, what's going on out there, do you know—?" Martha asked in haste as she barged into the medical bay, but stopped herself upon witnessing the odd scene. "Wait a minute, what's...?"

Larabee responded with, "Martha, Mary, listen, it's probably best if you return to your assigned cab—"

"No. We're not going anywhere until we find out more about what is happening. This boat is firing on something, repeatedly. _What_ is threatening this ship?"

"Those things," Jinn spoke up with fear.

"The monsters," Mae-Lin offered.

"Mrs. Chen, please," Larabee said to get her to be quiet.

"And what's wrong with those people?" Martha asked, referring to the bedridden, life support recipients lining the bay.

"They're off in another dimension," Thuan said, "With my dad."

Larabee blew a breath and blinked in exasperation.

"My dad's gonna kill their world and save us," Thuan went on.

"That's the plan," Mae-Lin said with an earnest nod.

Baxter finally decided to say something despite Larabee's reticence. After all, what was he going to do to her? She was CDC opps. Not navy. "Actually, Martha and Mary, that _is_ the plan. These people have been given a special compound that has allowed their mind's neural energies to transfer to another plane of existence...Hard to believe as that may be for you. The life support machines keep their bodies alive while their brain wave activities are temporarily absent.

"It is my hope and the hope of other doctors worldwide that the brainwaves of highly focused individuals will be successful in striking a serious blow at the heart of this chaotic plane of reality."

Martha looked off in disbelief and exasperated shock. "...I seeee..."

Baxter went on. "Look, I realize how hard this is to fathom, but if one or both of you qualifies for this crucial experiment, then I implore you participate. Because the Chen's are right—those things are coming for us. And it won't be long before this ship runs out of weaponry to hold them off."

Martha almost laughed as she replied, "Alll right, well good luck with your little fantasy mind jerk, but we're getting off this boat as soon as we can."

"That would be a huge mistake. It's complete anarchy out there."

"Yeah, well, it's not so together in here either. We'll take our chances." Martha turned for the door while saying, "Come on, Mary, before those damn things get on board." But then she turned when she noticed that her sister wasn't following. "...Mary...?"

Mary faced Martha and tentatively announced, "But what if she's right, Martha?"

A stern look of disbelief hit Martha's face. "You don't seriously buy this Saturday morning science fiction B.S., do you?"

"...I don't know...with all that we've seen...maybe it's possible."

" _Mary_ , I can't be travelling out there on my _own_! I need you with me! Now come on, let's go!"

Mary was caught in a mental tug-of-war as she kept ping-ponging her stare from Martha to the others.

"Or stay!" Martha said on. "But I'm leaving now!" And she did just that, disappearing from everyone's view.

Mary looked at the others and said, "I'm sorry, she's been through a lot." And left out to catch up to her sister.

All of sudden, Virg's body began to convulse and shake.

"What's wrong with him?" Larabee asked, alarmed.

"His body is losing its grip," Baxter announced.

"But he's on life support."

Baxter mentally braced herself for the admission. "...He was exposed to one of those creatures."

" _He's infected_?!"

"Yes. Both detectives Banks and Danford are."

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?!"

"Because I didn't want any panic while I put the project into play. You must realize how important this operation is to our survival."

"But now you've jeopardized us all!"

"How much less jeopardy do you think we're in, lieutenant?"

Larabee stared at her with incredulousness for a moment. Then he spit a breath of exasperation and turned away from Baxter. He walked a few steps, muttering to himself, "...This is just terrific, this takes the cake..."

"Lieutenant Larabee, I need you to keep it together and help me stave off the virus' effects with tranquilizers."

Larabee whipped around and blasted, "I am not touching those two!"

"Then just give me the hypos and Tab and I will do it."

Larabee eyed Tab and asked, "Do you know how to use a hypodermic?"

"I'm a med student, so yeah—"

She was abruptly distracted by the sight and sound of Paul now joining Virg in shimmying, bucking bodywide gyration.

It motivated Tab to bark, "Lieutenant, gives us the damn drugs!"

The mortar fire continued and could be heard throughout the ship's corridors. They could certainly be heard in the corridor Martha and Mary were now travelling.

"So, exactly _how_ are we going to get off this boat if those things are waiting on the dock?" Mary put to Martha.

"Mary, if we have to jump overboard, I'll have us do it. I'm not going through the ocean liner nightmare again—"

Martha was cut off by the sounds of an armed conflict not too far off from where the sisters now stood. It wasn't visible as of yet. But it was close. Men were shouting and rapidfire weapons were firing away. It was clear by their continued use that their target was not deterred.

"...Martha..." Mary said in horrid fear. They gripped each other in a tight embrace as they locked their eyes to the corridor up ahead of them.

In the next instant, two armed naval soldiers backed up into view from a corner. They were madly spraying bullets at something still not in sight.

But the shrilling scream of white noise could clearly be heard.

"Oh no!" Mary shrieked.

"Oh God..." Martha uttered as terror seized her.

A glob of spit shot from behind the corner and splashed a soldier in the eyes. He squinted harshly and faltered in shock and pain, ceasing his ability to fire on his opponent.

The other soldier continued to shower bullets at the unseen aggressor.

But then the enemy itself leapt into view. And lunged its head forth to spit another volley of liquid virus at the soldier. He dodged the poisoned swill and kept firing.

Martha and Mary had seen more than enough. They turned and bolted back the way they came.

But they only got so far before they were cut off—by the other twin as it rounded the corner. And stared the sisters down with maddened eyes.

Mary screamed in hysterics.

The agent screamed as well, a malicious holler of white noise.

The diseased girl-like wretch puckered, puffed its cheeks, and blew a glob of poison straight at Martha's face.

But Mary's protective instincts took over and she instantly shoved Martha out of the way in the nick of time. The spray, instead, caught Mary in the ear. Ignoring the hit, the younger sister pushed and pinned her elder up against the wall, attempting to shield her as much as possible.

"NO, Mary!" Martha hollered in defensive fear for her younger sibling's safety.

The soldier still battling the other twin—and dodging spits as best he could!—ran out of ammo in his assault rifle. He slung it around whip fast on the strap to his backside, then yanked out his .45 and fired headshots at the corpse-white attacker. At the same time, he pulled out his walkie talkie and shouted for back-up into it.

The other twin was spitting at the sisters repeatedly, trying to find an opening, an unprotected gap to hit Martha. But Mary was watching its offensive, madly repositioning herself to barrier her precious sister. Spit after spit kept tainting Mary's body.

"Maarrryyyy!!!" Martha howled in hysterical fear for her sister's coming fate.

It almost seemed like a titillating game for the chaos agent to see if it could find a chink in Mary's rapid defense. It kept trying to fake her out, play with her, trip her up. Mary did her best to track the lithe, dancing horror behind her.

"Mary, _please!!!"_ Martha shrieked on.

Finally, however, the twin seemed to tire of the little game, and decided to slap both its boney, ivory hands on Mary's shoulders. It clutched her with vice-like grips and ripped her away from Martha, flung her across and into the opposite wall. She collided with it then collapsed like a rag doll to the floor.

Martha turned about in wide-eyed dread. She glanced at Mary sprawled on the floor, then quickly at the twin.

The thing rolled its tongue inside its mouth while cocking its head back. Martha could tell that it was preparing a sizeable amount of fluid to spit her way. Her breaths heightened in fearful anticipation. But then her head spun to the right—

—as she witnessed six more soldiers armed with assault rifles approaching fast. They halted ten feet away from the twin and opened fire. It was distracted by the new arrivals and the annoyance of the several new holes being drilled into its given form.

Martha was glued to the wall, petrified of being accidentally shot. She turned to face Mary, who was stirring on the floor.

The twin began to move toward the soldiers, attempting to spit at the them.

Martha slid herself down along the wall and proceeded to carefully crouch herself down to a flattened crawl on the floor.

Mary lifted her dazed head to see Martha come close and grab her. "Come on, Mary, come on!"

The younger sister glanced at the retreating soldiers as the twin continued its advance on them, raging its white noise scream.

"Around the corner, Mary...Let's go; can you move?!" Martha asked.

"I think so," Mary cautiously answered. She tried it and found that she could—but it was a stiff and painful experience.

And soon they were huddled together, lurching on the floor to round the corner and away from the battles. The ones the soldiers were bound to lose.

When they got out of the range of the bullet sprays, they rose up as best they could and still held each other as they trudged on.

While they briskly walked, Martha breathily said, "That was stupid, Mary, what were you thinking?!"

"I wanted to protect you..." Mary huffed and puffed.

"Dammit, I'm the one that's supposed to protect _you_! You think I want to lose you the way we lost Mandy?!"

"But...I just couldn't...I think you're too important..."

"My importance has _always_ been to watch out for you two! _Dammit,_ girl, now you got all that stuff on you... _Dammit!_ " Martha raged, then said a bit calmer, "Gotta get you back to those quackjobs in the medical bay." And they carried each other on.

Chapter 45

Avery rose up from the unknowing to imagery overload: hundreds and hundreds of slow-strobing instances of disarray, confusion, degradation, madness.

And blinding spheres swirling and travelling...

...One snuck up and engulfed him in harsh, disorienting light; it was all he knew for a brief moment.

And then he was in a reality of his youth. He was twelve again and in the throws of one of the most trying periods of his childhood.

Avery's sister, Eiko was leaving for college...in another state far from New York.

Eiko could have been one of those sisters who resented a little brother and tortured him every chance she got. Or blamed Avery every time something went wrong. Or possibly just ignored him as if he didn't exist and didn't matter.

But she was none of those things when it came to her little brother, her little "Gizmo." In fact, she was a guiding light to her brother, a firm staple in his developing growth and well being, they were often inseparable and frequently seen goofing around together.

And if anyone ever tried to mess with Avery, then watch out, because Eiko was a fearless and effective fighter. A karate virtuoso, she was and from a very early age. Even the meanest of bullies knew better than to mess with Avery. They all knew of his sister's supreme martial arts skills.

Indeed, Eiko was Avery's protector, but also his confidant. He could tell her anything and she would not pass judgment on his feelings. And conversely she could share her concerns, and even gain insight from Avery's clear and concise mode of reasoning. She would often marvel at how wise he was for such a young kid. She knew he would become something extraordinary when he grew up. A famous explorer, or a world renowned scientist, maybe a charismatic and effective politician—Eiko felt that Avery could achieve any of these with glowing success. And she would tell him these things constantly, letting him know that she was aware of how special he was.

The problem was, now, that Eiko was six years older than Avery. And her chosen field's study would be best continued at a university halfway across the country. Eiko had to move on. And it distressed both brother and sister to be separated by such a severely long distance. No longer would Avery enjoy her comfort, her protection, her closeness.

And it was throwing him into such pain and confusion. So much so that he was begging her not to go. " _Please,_ just one more year."

"I'm sorry," Eiko sympathized, "But I have to go now, the matriculation has already been set in motion. If I wait another year, I might not get in."

"I know..." Avery lamented, looking down. "...But just don't go," he insisted.

"Avery...someday...you're going to have a family of your own. And there's going to be something that's important not only to you but many others. And you might have to tell your wife or your children that...you don't want to go and leave them for a while, but it's something you simply have to do... _I_ have to do this, Giz-Giz...or I'll regret it later on."

The next morning Eiko left for the trip to the far away state, and the far away university. Where she would stay for the next five years.

And Avery found for the first time that he couldn't concentrate to save his life.

Chapter 46

Mary was faltering. So much of the virus had been spat on her body that its effects clearly were going to hit her fast. She was shaking and stutteringly chattering in Martha's grasp.

And it seemed to be worsening as they reached the medical bay.

"Doctor Larabee, I need your help now!" Martha shouted in desperation.

Tab, Larabee, and the Chen family trio whipped about to witness the arrival of Mary and Martha.

"What happened?!" Larabee forcefully asked as he instinctively came closer to the sisters.

"She was attacked by one of those things! That stuff is making her sick like it did our sister! We need a strong tranquilizer to calm her down! Anything you have!"

But Larabee countered, "You've been touching her! That means you've been exposed too!"

"I'm fine—but _she_ is not! _Please_ get her something quick!"

"All right," Larabee conceded reluctantly, "Lay her on a bed and we'll get an IV going."

Tab and Jinn rushed to Martha's aid in getting Mary situated in an empty bed. After that there were only three beds left available for use. Larabee had a feeling it wouldn't be enough for what was coming.

He injected Mary in the fold of her arm while the others held her stable enough for the needle's puncture. Then the good doctor snapped off the syringe's back half and hooked it up to the IV tube. Morphine soon flowed from the hanging bag into Mary's system. Within minutes she calmed to a slight tremor. Martha held her hand and bent close to her face.

"There you are, baby, you're doing better," Martha soothed.

Mary stared at her sister and managed a jittery smile. Then she said, "You-you have to do it."

"Do what, what are you talking about?" Martha said, baffled.

"Take that doctor's chemical...help the others stop what is happening..."

"Don't be stupid, who knows what her experimental drug is doing to their minds right now—"

"But _what if_ it works, Mar...and you were a deciding factor in turning things around? _You_...have always been the most focused and determined person I've ever met. I owe most of my success to you and your doggedness. Who, if not you, is right for this? Besides...you said it was your purpose in life to protect me...What if this is the only way to do it..."

Martha looked at her ailing sister, and found it hard to refuse her request, crazy as it was to her own sensibilities. But it also held a certain shred of rationality to it, considering the insane things that she and her sisters had encountered. Now Martha had seen first hand that girl-corpse-thing take several rounds of bullet fire and not even be fazed. Truly, a new realm of reality— _and_ mode of thinking—had to be adopted.

"...All right, little sis...I'll do it. If it even has the slightest chance of saving you, I'll do it."

"Thank you, big sis...This is why I wanted to protect you from that thing...because I just know you're the one for this."

Martha gave Mary another placating smile, squeezed her hand, and bent down ever further to give her a kiss on the forehead. She stared at her younger sister for an instant longer, then rose to turn and face Larabee and Baxter. "Okay. Let's—"

Suddenly, the muffled yet deep sound of wrenching metal howled throughout the ship.

And both Paul and Virg's bodies began to wildly convulse once more.

Larabee barked with purpose to Baxter, "I'll get them something stronger! You and Tab get Martha set up!"

"Right," Baxter responded immediately. She and Tab took Martha over to a bed and got her ready to go.

Now there were only two empty beds left.

Chapter 47

Paul blew out of the hospital entrance and out into the cold afternoon air. He stormed over to his car in the parking lot but didn't open it up to get inside. Instead he bent his head down and rested his outstretched hands on the car's door frame.

Never in his life had he been so conflicted, so confused, so thrown into emotional upheaval. To the point that he couldn't even remember yesterday. All there was within him was this current moment, this madness of thought.

He stayed in his hunched over stance for a good few moments, enduring his mental anguish, then he finally decided to get in the car. He sat in the driver's seat and prepared himself to start the ignition. Only he didn't. He froze in further malaise of indecisiveness. His expression was blank, but with a hint of deep loss in his eyes.

Clearly, he didn't want to go home, for at this point, he still lived with his parents. And he didn't want constant reminders of his father's passing everywhere he looked.

He had a notion that perhaps he should just drive, drive around, drive anywhere. Keep his mind occupied on the necessary procedures of navigating the road. Maybe play some music while he was at it. Find a focus and attempt to equalize.

He started the car then looked at his portable case of compact discs...

...and an image flashed his consciousness: an MP3 player.

_That seems wrong...and yet right at the same time...Why is that?_ he pondered briefly.

He found a soul-searching themed music CD and slipped it into the stereo slit...

... _hit the MP3 play dial..._

_What?_ his mind asked. This flash thing was bizarre...

The music began to play, a local band that Paul found to be quite good—and had acquired the CD at one of their better club gigs. They sang about the struggle and enduring through hard times, but with melodies that sounded hopeful.

Paul put the car in gear and drove out of the parking lot as fast as he could. He wanted to get away from the hospital with a passion. He felt horrible for his mother, of course, but he simply couldn't face her right now.

He drove on from street to street, turning corners at random, not really intent on any set destination.

At one intersection he was halted by a red light. Up on a crosswalk curb stood two teenage girls who were obviously talking to each other.

_Those girls need to watch out,_ he told himself in his head. _How do I know that...?_

The light turned green for Paul's car's direction to proceed. The girls were cross walking in the same direction. But a car was turning right and into their path!

It stopped just in the nick of time to avoid hitting the girls and turning them into a horrid mess of blood and bone. But Paul seemed to know that this was going to happen— _exactly_ as it just happened.

Paul wasn't one for bouts of déjà vu, he never shared that strong inclination that an event was unfolding precisely as his mind's mysterious preconception dictated.

And yet this seemed more than that, more than a feeling that something was going to happen a certain way. This was a concreteness that he knew it would.

He pondered on this for only a few seconds, however, before he finally moved forward.

A new song played on the stereo, one of Paul's favorites on the CD album...

...and suddenly a new thought popped up in the forefront of his mind: his mother's new husband also loves this song. He knew this because he had played it for him about ten years back...

What? Wait a minute, what?!

_That doesn't make sense at all!_ his mind wrestled at the obvious paradox of this realization, this memory that couldn't be. _How could my mother possibly be married again when my father had just passed away?!_

And how could I have played this song for Tim ten years ago?!

Tim. That was his name, Tim Overton. And he was an electrical technician who met my mom three years after my father's death. And saved her from a life of loneliness and despair.

Tim is a hell of a guy, Paul knew. Paul was quite grateful for his presence in his mother's life, glad for their marriage and the healing it represented.

And he liked the song, the one playing now...And Paul was now certain that he played it for Tim—on an MP3 player.

Because CD's were ancient history as the new and preferable music format.

And Paul's father, Blake Danford, God rest his soul, had been dead for the last fifteen years.

And none of this was real. It was only a memory.

Paul suddenly sped up the car to roughly a hundred miles per hour.

And as he did, the world around him began to glitch. Like a virtual reality helmet might if it encountered a technical hiccup.

But that wasn't all. Things, objects began to disfigure, misalign, melt, drain of color.

Paul revved up to 110 MPH, and he began thinking with a certain irony, _I should pull myself over and give myself a ticket. I could do it too, I'm fully authorized as an officer of the law. I_ did _become a cop, that_ was _my choice for better or worse. And more than that, I'm a detective for the New York State Police Department._

The world was turning to white...brilliant and almost blinding white.

Paul was at 120 MPH now, destined to slam into a building that was dead center at the end of a "T" in the road.

Yet just as he was about to violently collide with the building, white flashed in front of him, and he pierced through it to meet what was truly about him.

The chaos plane, the strobing maelstrom of anarchistic visions and sounds. And he found that he could pan around all about to see yet more of the same madness.

Yet now something was different within what he was witnessing. In the far off distance, between the alternating of seeing and not seeing pulses, Paul encountered a large and seemingly alive sphere of energy.

_The heart of this whole thing?_ Paul's thoughts questioned. _The source from which it all springs?_

_One sure way to find out,_ he answered himself, and channeled his thoughtwaves to flow in the direction of the bloated and writhing, larger ball of light.

His own core light got a certain distance toward the possible central heart when—

SLAM!—another blinding flash swooped in and ensnared him!

And made him forget yet again what he was truly after.

It was two years ago in Paul's new conscious reality. And his wife was about to leave him.

Driving home from lunch, Cassie Banks—soon to be Cassie Parnell again—found it necessary to still hound her son. To coerce a decision out of him. "I'm serious, Virgy, _what_ is it going to be? Your self-serving father and his controlling family and friends, _or_ your mother who is offering you a fresh start?"

Virg still couldn't give her an answer. Both choices seemed right—and wrong.

" _Well?_ " Cassie kept on.

This was seriously getting under his skin. And it made him blurt, "If you're going to be like that then I'll juts pick dad."

"Look, all right, I'm sorry. I just need to know, because I don't want to tear your room up if you're planning on staying put."

"Can't I just finish out the school year, _then_ make a decision?"

"My God, is it really that hard to understand that you need to be with me...that _I_ need you to be with me?"

Ah, the guilt trip—his mother had booked that flight months in advance. And now she was taking off.

"You don't feel like you need your mother?" she needled him deep into his heart.

"...Of course...you know I do," he was shamed into responding.

"Then it should be settled. We'll start packing up your room tomorrow morning. And we'll find a tactful way of telling your father. He'll understand, of course. I mean, it's not like it will put a serious kink in his self-involved, self-important world."

Virgy tried, "So...you don't think that dad needs me at all?"

"I didn't mean it like _that,_ of course Dennis loves you and would miss you. I just meant—"

"What?" Virg blurted with a cinched brow.

"What...? _What,_ what?" She drew her brow in as well.

"Who did you say?"

"I said, of course your father loves you and would miss—"

"No, wait...you said...you said Dennis..."

"...No, I said your father...You know, your father, Virgil Sr.? Are you feeling all right?"

"...Yeah...I'm fine, I just...I'm sure I heard you say Dennis."

"...Oh...maybe I did but I meant your father."

"But who's Dennis?"

"Well, Dennis is an old college friend of mine who I ran into a few weeks back. And he's the one who clued me into the new job I'm getting. That's probably why I accidentally said his name.

"But anyway, like I was saying..."

Cassie pressed on about Virg's father and how he'd miss Virgy but would get over it, and blah, blah, blah...

But Virg couldn't get over the mistake of bringing up old friend, Dennis; he tuned his mother out as his thoughts kept harping on the name.

For some reason the mention of this Dennis person managed to rub Virg the wrong way. But he couldn't figure out how or why at this moment.

Had his mother mentioned him in the past? No, not that he could ever recall—and Virg had a pretty good memory for things. Perhaps it was the fact that he knew Cassie had a penchant for flirting with men.

And now that she was divorcing Virg Sr., was dear, sweet, extroverted mom doing more than just flirting to secure new employment?

And why would she mistakenly superimpose Dennis when referencing Virgil Sr.? "Old Friend" was he, this Dennis character?

Or had he been a friend all along? Had his mother been seeing Dennis for some, most, or all of her marriage with Virg's father?

How _far_ had Cassie taken the flirting thing?

And what kind of guy was this Dennis fellow? What did he offer Cassie that Virg Sr. did not? More understanding? More respect?

A better time in the bedroom?

Virg mentally scowled at that thought. And because of it, Virgy knew that he would likely despise Dennis if he ever met him.

( _You have._ )

... _What? Who was that?_ Virg's mind asked in bafflement. _Who are you? And what do you mean I have? I_ know _Dennis? What is happening here? Clearly I don't know this Dennis because my mother just told me about h—"_

( _You have for years_ )

_What the hell_ is _this?! Who is talking to me?!_

( _It's Doctor Hargrave, Virgil_ )

Who?

( _Your therapist, your doctor after the divorce, with whom you've confided greatly._ )

The divorce hasn't happened yet—

( _You've told me so much about what troubles you, Virgil._ )

... _So...I'm troubled...I'm a mental case, is that why I'm hearing voices in my head?_

( _Far from it, Virgil, you're one of the sanest people I know. You've just had to deal with many troubling issues in the years since the divorce. And your mother's remarrying._ )

Come again?

( _Her second marriage to Dennis Del Mar, whom you've described as sweet and adoring to your mother—yet overbearing and bullyish towards you personally._ )

_In the_ years _since the divorce?! Wwwwhat are you even talking ab—?_

( _Bullying, and sabotaging of your relationship with your mother. This is a pattern he inflicted on you in secrecy from both of your parents. And I have been helping you cope with your pain and regret over choosing to live with your mother rather than your father after the divorce._ )

" _Hello?_ Are you listening to me?" Cassie said, interrupting Virg's bizarre and disturbing mental conversation.

"Huh?" Virg asked, a bit startled.

"I _said_ it's probably time for you to get a new bed. So if you'd prefer we leave your old one at the house, then we can just put a new one in at the new place. What do you think?"

Virg thought about that for a moment...then uttered, "Hmm...what do I think...? I think...that I now know what's going on..."

( _There it is, young Virgil. You're on your way..._ )

"What do you mean, dear?" Cassie asked.

"I think...don't bother with the new bed..."

"But it would be the best thing—"

"Don't bother with any of it."

( _Get there, Virg...Your breakthrough is so close..._ )

"What're you getting at, Virgy?"

"I mean I'm not coming with you. I'm not going to make the same mistake I have _already_ made."

Scowling in confusion, Cassie hoarsed, " _What_ are you talking about?!"

(... _so close_...)

"I won't move in with you and watch you have this emotionally placating relationship with a charming yet controlling sociopath. And _yes_ , mother, that's exactly who Dennis is—and has been for years!

(... _Almost to the finish line..._ )

"But you don't even know Dennis, Virg—!" Cassie protested but was curtly interrupted.

"And if I had to choose over again, I would most certainly choose my father—and save myself _years_ of therapy!"

"What?!"

"Therapy with Dr. Hargrave, who apparently is talking to me inside my head."

"Have you totally lost it?!"

Outside the car, the world was faltering, draining, losing its color...

( _Snap the tape, Virg!_ )

"But it's not really her, it's me—me remembering that this is just a memory long past. _None_ of this is real..."

( _Winner, Virgil Banks by a mile!_ )

"Virgy, baby, you're scaring the hell out of me!"

"...Goodbye, mother..." And Virg unbuckled himself, opened his door, and leapt out the car while it was speeding at sixty-five miles and hour.

"VIRGIL!!!" Cassie howled as she fast reached for him with her right hand.

But she couldn't catch his body before he made the fateful leap. And if everything _had_ been real, he most certainly would have caused himself great bodily damage, possibly enough to end his life.

Instead of smacking the road at high speed, however, he fell right into a wash of white. White that soon unclouded itself rapidly to reveal the true environment about Virg—the plane of throbbing, maddening chaos.

He wooshed around and caught sight of what Paul had seen earlier: the presumed heart of it all, the slithery, worming sun to this diseased existence.

_That's it_ , he determined, _what the docs were talking about_...

He soared in its direction...

...until another sphere of anarchy ate him up. And supremely stole his direction of purpose, replacing it with another moment of conflicting dismay.

Virgy was now Virg, sixteen and wading his way through high school.

And unwittingly about to become a father.

So Eiko was gone, far away, and Avery, as he was at twelve years old, started the seventh grade. And nervous as hell. He knew he would eventually have to face the school bullies without the generous protection of his big sister.

The very first day he ran into trouble.

Clay Dowds was a tank of a boy, and his followers weren't much different in the physique department. Avery, unfortunately, was slender and short—an easy target for Clay's unique click of sadists. Tormenting Avery was clearly going to be a lot of fun.

And even though Avery was of Japanese descent, Clay called to him as, "Hey, China Boy..."

Avery was sitting by himself at a cafeteria table during lunch when Clay and his sidekicks ambled up to the smaller boy. They sat on both sides of him as well as stood behind. Clay was on Avery's left, seated close.

"Hey, where's your Jiu Jitsu master older sister, there, China Boy?" Clay continued with mock concern.

"My name's Avery," the boy said, trying to sound tough and calm.

" _Avery?_ No, no, no, that doesn't work for us. Does it work for you, guys?"

Clay's friends adamantly shook their heads then stared back at Avery.

"Nope, see?" Clay went on. "How 'bout...D-very—or _no,_ F-very...Naw, screw it, I like China Boy too much." He placed his meaty arm around Avery's small shoulders as the sidekicks chuckled. "So, China Boy...I was asking where your sister was? Oh—wait a minute, I remember, she _graduated_ last semester. That means she no longer goes to Carter High...Which means no more of your sister coming to rescue your pimply, China Boy ass, right, China Boy?"

Avery said nothing but stared down at his tray of half-eaten lunch. He was trying so hard to stay calm.

"Isn't that right? China Boy?" Clay kept on mocking. "You know, your sister used to do some sweet moves, I gotta say...and she looked pretty damn sexy with those kicks and blocks and hits and 'kapouowa!'"

The Clay minions snickered.

"Whaddya think, China Boy, do you think your sister was sexy doing all those Jiu Jitsu master moves?" Clay jerked his head in closer to Avery's, as if to catch a betraying expression on the poor boy's face. Pretending he saw one, Clay barked in disgust, "OH, you DO! Oh man, that is some sicko noise there, China Boy. You are _sick._ Hey listen, there's something I wanna know, China 'Perv' Boy...Are _you_ a Jiu Jitsu, Kung Fu master like your hot sister?"

"I bet you he is," chimed in a sidekick.

"I bet he's _better_ than his sexy sister," another added.

" _Are_ you?" Clay taunted, "You better at Kung Pao than your super-slut sister?"

Avery's lip twitched with rage. His closed mouth concealed gritted teeth. The boys snickered on.

"I think we should prove it," Clay suggested with enthusiasm, "whaddya say, guys?" They all agreed wholeheartedly. "Now let's see who we could use to prove it..."

The minions greatly expressed their desire to be the ones to test the theory.

Clay, however, said, "No, no, come on, that's not interesting enough. How 'bout someone who thoroughly got their ass kicked by Eiko...I know! Chris Deacon—he was taking your lunch and socking you a lot, wasn't he? And sexy, sexy got his sorry butt after school—whupped him into the dirt, sure as shit.

"Now if you can do the same, China Boy, then I guarantee you nobody will be bothering you again."

"He won't look as sexy though," a sidekick threw in for laughs.

"That's not true," Clay countered in full mock mode, " _All_ the chicks will be crushin' on China Boy here, I bet."

"I don't think he swings that way, Claymore."

"We'll see, won't we?" Clay said as he stared daggers at Avery. "So after school today, you're gonna meet Chris, China Boy, and you're gonna show him your Kung Pao...or we're just gonna knock you flat— _Avery._ "

Clay slapped Avery hard on the back of his neck twice, then rose with the rest of his lackeys and vacated the scene.

Avery heard them as they got further way commenting that with a name like Avery, maybe he _did_ swing the other way.

And at this moment, Avery missed his older sister more than ever; at this moment, he simply wanted to curl up and die.

Martha's brainwaves, her consciousness assumed it was dreaming of traveling headlong inside a vast green, vibrant tunnel.

But as the tunnel terminated and opened up into a seemingly infinite new realm, Martha now understood that this was no dream. Now she fully realized that the doctors were telling her the God's honest truth. That there _was_ an alternate plane of existence. And it was completely terrifying to behold, almost beyond comprehension. _This must be where madness and the complacency of purpose originate,_ she pondered with awe and horror.

However, she didn't have long to contemplate her new reality as a confusion-energized sphere of light broke from its erratic flight and shot directly toward her.

It snatched her up before she could even have time to react, and blinded her with whiteness—and a forgetfulness of her current predicament.

Now she was seventeen and walking the football/track field with her fairly new boyfriend, Kip Nash. Fairly new because, by this point, they had been going out for three weeks. But Martha was already in love. Kip was charming, attractive, and slender. And he was one of the few guys that made Martha laugh.

It was 2:50 in the cool, crisp afternoon, and school had just let out for the day. Martha and Kip were leisurely, happily walking with hands entwined. They were heading for the bleachers though not to sit—to go _behind_ the bleachers, where it was darker and more secluded.

And Martha's heart was racing. She thought to herself, _the time is right, I like him enough and we have been going out for a while. And I bet he would be wonderful,_ feel _wonderful...I've brought the necessary protection just in case it goes that far, and I know how to put it on in case he doesn't._ Though she had a feeling he probably would, she knew that he had been with a few other girls before her. Not that she was jealous about it, he was with her now, and she was happier than she'd ever been.

They were rounding the bleachers now, approaching and entering the back underside of its structure. It was much shadier, of course, and less of the brisk wind was getting through. Martha rested herself up against a vertical support beam and held Kip close to her. They began to kiss each other, gently at first, but with a bit more pressing and opened mouths before long.

Still kissing her intermittently, Kip asked softly, "Your sisters aren't going to wonder where you are?"

Martha performed the same dual task as she replied, "Mandy has skating practice until five, and Mary's got her writing group until 4:30, so..."

"Oh...good..."

"Mm-hm..."

The kissing heated up again for a moment or two.

Then Martha offered in a dreamy tone, "I've got something...to cover us...in case we..."

"...You've got a blanket hidden under your blouse?" he joked.

"No, silly, I meant—"

"I know, I know what you meant," he said with a playful smile.

" _You_..." she trailed off with her own smile to match.

And again the kissing intensified, and stayed that way for a good minute...

...until Kip lightly asked, "You didn't happen to bring _more_ than one, did you?"

"Mmmm yeah..." she admitted a little sheepishly.

They were still intermittently kissing when he asked on, "...Three or four maybe?"

Her eyebrows rose in a bit of surprise, but she still held a pleasant smile as she responded, "Hey, whoa, how much time do you think we have here?" She giggled a bit.

"...Well it's just that...I was wondering..."

"...Wondering what?"

"You know...how would you feel about...about sharing?"

Her brow crinkled immediately, her smile disappeared as she stopped kissing altogether. "Do mean _other girls_?"

"Uh...not exactly—"

"Hey Kip, Martha," boomed a male voice from the entrance of the underside. It came from one of Kip's track team buddies, Seth Ferrelly. And he wasn't alone. One other teenage boy, Lance Coleman, was with him.

And in the next instant after turning to witness their arrival, Martha got what Kip meant. And it terrified her to the core.

Chapter 48

The Yorktown still had a few mortar rounds left to fire. It had just blasted off another toward the odd line-up of chaos agents, smashing them into air for the umpteenth time.

But its forward gun would not get another chance to hold off the charred figures as they came together yet again.

Because the twins were now having insane amounts of fun trying to taint every part of the ship they could find. The hull, equipment, crew, weaponry—most of it had been spit on by now.

The front gun, having just been oozed over by saliva, was now mutating into an inverted, twisted, crooked mess; completely unable to fire.

The bridge, however, was one of the few places on the boat that was still intact. Madison was doing his best to ensure that the brain center of the Yorktown remained whole and working. Refueling was almost done, and the supply crews had just made it back aboard—miracle of miracles! How they found food and medicine in the city madness was beyond Madison's comprehension.

Now if they could just store the supplies in a location that wasn't being mangled in some bizarre, frightening way.

In the meantime, Madison had placed security forces outside every entrance of the bridge. As many men as could be spared were using assault rifles, grenades, and hand guns to ward off the ghost-white twins. The grenades were particularly effective in knocking the two girl-like things backward, away from getting too close to the bridge. Unfortunately, the blast shrapnel was also hitting some of the men, as they were unable to barricade themselves in time.

And they only had so many grenades to throw.

But the men were ordered to hold out as best they could. Protect the bridge, protect medical, for as long as possible.

Over the sounds of fierce combat, a bridge crew member called out to Madison, "Captain, we're done refueling!"

Madison immediately ordered, "Uncouple us and get us moving if we can!"

"Aye, captain! Uncoupling now!" The crewman worked the necessary control panel to unhook the fuel line from the ship. He hoped to God it still worked properly.

In minutes the dock agents of anarchy would be reforming.

Chapter 49

Paul, in one important respect, was simply on cloud nine. He was coming home from work after receiving news he been promoted. He was now what he had been working toward for the past twelve years: a full fledged detective for the New York State Police. He had put in the serious work overtime in the last year, and now it was paying off in spades. He was charged, thrilled, he just hoped that he didn't crash his car on the way home from too much excitement—and not enough attention to the road.

He made it successfully to his parking spot then raced to his front door. He quickly unlocked it and walked in to shout, "Tab! Come here, hon, I got some great news!"

But there was no response from anywhere in the apartment.

In fact, now Paul noticed that the place was a little less crowded of certain items. Tab's MP3 boombox was gone from an endtable, her family pictures were absent from the walls, and a few other personal items of Tab's were nowhere in sight.

"...Taaab?!" he called out in alarming confusion, then began searching the whole apartment. Soon he found that all of her things were gone—even certain items from the refrigerator and the pantry were taken. "What the hell...?" he uttered as he ended his search and stood in the living room once more, baffled and disturbed.

He got out his phone and speed-dialed Tab's number.

She answered. "Hello, Paul." Her tone was flat, cold.

"Yeah, uh," Paul started tensely, "hey, do you wanna clue me in as to just what the hell's going on here?"

"I think it should be obvious, Paul."

"So we weren't going to, like, discuss this, or anything...?"

"What more is there to discuss? You're a cop, your life is cop stuff, all day everyday. And when all is said and done, you don't have any real room for me. End of story."

"Come on, Tab, you know I don't work _every_ single day."

"That's true, Paul, on the handful of days that you don't work, you're sleeping. And I'm tired of watching you sleep."

"Honey, it's only because I've been bustin' it to try and make full detective."

"Which may never happen."

"Well...as a matter of fact, I just did."

"Then it's all been worth it for you, hasn't it?" Her question, he could tell, sadly, was rhetorical.

"Look, I don't understand this, we went out last Saturday, and we had such a terrific time at the night club."

"It's true, I did have a really good time with you at the club. And afterwards was terrific too, I won't deny that. But a few hours of fun can't make up for everything else, and you have to know that. The truth is, I wanted to have at least one last night of the way it used to be, before I ended things and got out."

"Tab, don't do this..."

"It's already been done, Paul. I'm talking to a lawyer on Monday to find out what my best course of action is."

"Tab, I've done the best I can do; I just got the promotion, I'm working for a better situation for the both of us."

"You know that's not true, Paul. You're working toward a better situation for you, and I barely fit in to that equation."

"Jeeze, listen to you, you sound like you're a forty-year-old or something."

"I've had to grow up quite a bit in the last couple of years. A little more than I wanted, really. I admit it's partly my fault—I was naïve and too blinded by my feelings for you when we got married. But now I see pretty clearly, and I know that it's not going to work."

Paul breathed deeply, morosely. "...Do you even love me any more?"

"...I think I always will, Paul. But it'll never be enough to stop you from doing what you do, as much as you do it. And I could never ask you to stop being who you are."

"...I could try," he offered without total conviction.

"We both know that wouldn't work. What else were you really born to do?"

"To love you?" he tried as a plausible answer.

"...I have to go, Paul. Please don't contact me for a while, it'll only make things more difficult for the both of us."

"Can I at least know where you're staying?"

"Not right now...Bye, Paul. Congratulations on your promotion." _Click_ —and she hung up.

And Paul was left with a heart filled with chaotic confusion.

Virg was late. Late for a meeting with his friends at the Junior Officers of America Club. But his ex-girlfriend, Harmony Kessler said he _had_ to meet with him after school; said it was extremely important and something that couldn't wait.

So there Virg was sitting on a bench in the practically deserted quad area of McArthur High School. And Harmony's continued absence was only making young Virg later for his club meeting.

Finally, however, she showed and came near him. He stood to face her as she stopped in front of him. She looked tense, troubled.

"Okay, Harm," Virg started with a slight tone of exasperation, "I'm here but I'm kinda late for something, so what's up, what's so important?"

She was eyeing him at first, but then she averted her stare. Her expression turned more grim.

His brow furled as he asked, "What, are you sick or something? Is it serious?"

"Well I have been sick, but...only in the mornings..." Her eyes kept flitting back and forth from facing him to looking away. She looked as if she might cry.

His brow cinched further in confusion...but then he got what she meant. And his eyes widened under lifted brows. He drew in a bracing breath. "Oh no, _serious_...?"

She nodded quickly a few times, looking downward.

He looked away himself, trying to process this life altering new reality. His mouth was stuck open. "...And it's definitely mine..."

"Yeah, I haven't been with anyone else since us, so..."

"...Oh God..." He turned away from her and walked off a few steps, awash in shock and fear. But soon he whipped about to face her again. "Have you decided what you're going to do?"

"That's why I wanted to talk to you. I'm thinking that maybe since _I'm_ the one who has to go through the procedure, that maybe you could be the one to pay for it."

"I don't understand this, I thought you were—that you couldn't a have a..."

"Surprise," she said with mock enthusiasm.

"But wait a minute now, you...you wanna just...just..."

" _Come on,_ Virg, I'm _seventeen_ , and besides, you _know_ my father. You know he would basically disown me and throw me out on the street. I don't want to be homeless and taking care of a screaming little thing."

"...Are you _sure_ , I mean think about this, Harm, we're going to have to live with this decision for the rest of our lives. Do you want that kind of guilt wearing on you for as long as you live?"

"I'll deal with it. I don't want to be homeless and begging for change to feed something that'll probably grow up to resent me anyway."

"Isn't there anyone who would take you in, any relatives or friends?"

"No. None of my friends' families could afford it. And my other relatives live in either _Norway_ or _Alaska._ And I'm not planning on freezing my ass off in either. No...I'm doing this, and you gotta help me, it's partly your responsibility. And I know you will, you're one of those straight shooter types, Virg, admit it. You wouldn't leave me hanging."

"Yeah, if only my little swimmers weren't such straight shooters as well..." He turned away again in an oppressive stupor, trying to focus his thoughts and feelings.

"Just pay for it," she went on, "and I'll get it done, and you and I can get on with our lives. Do the things we want to do, what we were meant to do and all that. Just do this for me, you know we're not ready for something this big."

Virg found that at this moment neither option sounded like the best thing to do. He knew she couldn't come and live with him and his mother, especially now that Cassie had recently married. The new husband didn't like Virg in the first place, and only tolerated him for Cassie's sake.

Virg could drop out of high school and try and get a job to support Harmony and the child. But that meant he would have to give up his ultimate ambition of joining law enforcement. They didn't take drop outs as far as he knew. And he didn't want to scrub his dream, what Harmony had just referred to—the thing he was _meant_ to do.

But to murder an innocent...

His head and heart swam in such chaotic confusion.

Chapter 50

"There it is!" Celia shouted as their car was turning a corner and nearing the naval harbor. Now Celia, Marta, and Roddy could see the Yorktown docked in its port.

And the chaos agents who were reforming in a broken line to face the ship.

"Look at the front cannon of the ship..." Roddy uttered in awe.

They could see that the giant front gun was an almost unrecognizable hunk of disarray, like the artwork of a diseased mind. They also started to notice now that other parts of the vessel had undergone structural changes, mutations. Odd dents of varying size littered the side hull of the ship.

"Are we too late?" Celia asked in fear.

"Maybe not..." Marta said as she gunned it toward the crooked line of wretches now seeming to advance on the Yorktown.

"What are you doing?!" Celia shouted.

"Hold on! I'm gonna ram 'em!"

"But the water...!"

"Just hold ooooonnn...!"

About twenty feet from the line of the agents, Marta jerkingly spun the steering wheel hard to her right, ensuring that the driver's side of the car would be slamming into the blackened horrors.

It worked as the skidding, sideways forwarding car hit the agents, sending most of them flying over the hood or off the to the sides. As the car trio had noticed before, no blood was spilt. Whatever these things were, they weren't human.

As Marta had hoped for, the car screeched to a halt five or six feet from the port's edge. Lucky timing. All three occupants blew nervous sighs of relief.

"Come on, Now!" Marta shouted, and they exited the car to quickly, madly run up the ramp to the Yorktown—just as it was pulling away...

" _Hurryyy!!!_ " Marta hollered in desperation. She made it to the edge of the ramp to leap onto the ship's deck.

Roddy had to leap further but still made it.

Celia jumped from an even wider gap—and lost her footing to slip and fall. But she was caught by the wrists as both Roddy and Marta grabbed hold. They pulled her up with all their might and got her to the safety of the deck.

Again they blew tense breaths of relief.

"Thanks," Celia offered.

"Anytime, girl," Marta said.

"Come on, guys," Roddy prodded, "let's find those doctors."

"Right," Marta agreed, and helped Celia to her feet.

The grenades were now expended. And the last had been less effective anyway. The twins had morphed a wall section so far in that it provided an adequate barrier from the blasts.

But now they were advancing on the guards, dispatching them with ease.

One soldier actually carried a shotgun, and put a few powerful rounds into the twins' stomachs, chests, and heads. But the two anarchy agents simply kept coming—even though large chunks of their skull were now missing.

Shotgun man was tossed aside and slammed into the wall by a twin. He crumpled to the floor, his consciousness lost. The other twin spit on him where he lay.

Then they moved on to the three last guards who stood between the "girls" and the bridge. The armed soldiers fired away, regardless of the futility, adding to the already hundreds of bullet holes in the two agents. In seconds the soldiers were knocked violently into the walls and spit on.

One of the twins had only one eye left. It stared at the bridge crew, at Madison. The other twin had neither eyes for the head's top portion had been blown off. But both still had their mouths. They screamed shrilling white noise at their new prey.

But someone else also screamed out. Someone behind the two wretches.

Roddy.

"Hey!!!" he bellowed again. Celia and Marta came up to flank him and stare at the twins.

The agents turned and approached the new arrivals, not in a run, but a leisurely and unnerving walk.

"All your certainty, all your focus, Roddy," Marta advised tensely. "We don't have anything to shield us now..."

"You got it," Roddy agreed with his own intensity.

"Get behind us, Celia."

Celia did so...and began thinking of something that might be crucial to this situation... "Marta, Roddy...cut your hands—with your nails or something! Cut 'em deep so they'll bleed a lot!"

Without questioning Celia's motives, Marta and Roddy did what she instructed.

The twins kicked downed soldiers aside with ease as they approached the three new targets.

Both Marta and Roddy had now sliced fairly deep and blood-seeping wounds in their right palms. They cupped them upward to pool the blood, and waited until the twins were close enough.

When the twins closed the gap to about seven feet from Marta and Roddy, they prepared to spit.

But the focused woman and boy managed to attack first by flinging out their cut hands—and splashing the twins with flecks of their blood.

The reaction was immediate—the agents writhed violently in anguish, roaring white noise.

Marta and Roddy flung more blood onto the twins, hoping to damage the grotesque things even further, maybe even kill them if possible. The twins continued to suffer greatly, faltering to the floor and twitching. The white noise screams degraded to static-like hiccups and short squeals. Soon, it died down altogether, and the twins became still.

" _Good thinking,_ Celia," Marta said as she put pressure on her wound—she didn't want to overbleed.

"Thanks," Celia replied, "I got the idea from Roddy's blood when it stopped the ground from splitting any more. And then when you made the half head man whine."

"Clever, sis," Roddy praised as he put his own pressure on his wound.

Madison and his remaining crew filtered out from the bridge and into the corridor. Awe was written on their faces as they witnessed the scene before them.

Madison had to ask, "How the _hell_ did you do that?"

Chapter 51

Martha's breath kept catching in her throat. She couldn't remember the last time she had been so terrified, felt so trapped.

Seth and Lance had now come forward into the shadier underside of the bleachers. They stopped just a few feet from Martha and Kip. Their positioning was such that now she couldn't flee to either side of the bleacher end sections; to the gaps leading to the field. To freedom.

"So what's the word, Kip, is she, like...into it or...?" Seth asked.

Kip smiled nervously, tentatively as he replied, "Well, we were just getting to it actually..."

"Listen..." Martha started with an attempt at a calm tone, "I don't know what you think is going to go on here, but—"

" _Hey, hey..._ " Seth tried to soothe and diffuse, "...calm down, no one here is interested in making a big blow up scene."

"Then would one of you move out of the way? Because I want to leave—"

"Hey, come on, hon," Kip said, "It was just an idea I wanted you to consider, that's all."

"Yeah," Seth added, "we just want you to slow it down, and think about it for a second here...Why run off so fast, we're not bad guys..."

Martha kept looking from Seth to Lance, horrified that neither was moving out of the way. She turned back to face Kip. "Please tell them to move," she pleaded in fear.

But Kip countered with his own pleading, "Aw, come on, Mar, why are you being like this? It could be something really awesome and memorable..."

"Tell them to move!"

"Why are you being like that?!" he shot back, clearly not keen on being yelled at. "Look, I'll be straight with you, Martha, this is the kind of thing I'm into. It doesn't mean I want you to sleep with everyone in the school or anything. You can trust the three of us to make it good for you. And then you can make it good for us. It could be a special thing that we share."

"I don't know, Kip," Lance spoke up for the first time, "maybe she just doesn't think Seth and I are good looking enough."

"Come on, she doesn't think that, you think they're attractive enough, right, Mar?"

Almost hysterical, Martha shouted, "It doesn't _matter_ if I do or don't, I don't like them like that! I like _you_ —or at least I thought I did before you brought up this sickening idea!"

Kip looked down and shook his head, expelling a dejected breath in the process. "This is really disappointing, Mar, I really thought you would be more considerate of my interests in life. I mean, it's not like I'm asking you to sleep with a goat or anything."

"Or Eugene Belzer," Seth added for laughs. And all three boys, knowing what a nerdish trainwreck Eugene was, did chuckle.

"Come on now, don't be cold," Kip chided, but then laughed some more in spite of himself. He refocused on Martha before him. "Sorry, sorry...Listen...how about this...we do this just this once, since we're all here, and if afterwards you don't like it, we don't have to do it again. It'll be just us...But I think you should be open to trying this first."

"Hey Mar," Seth tried, "Kip's last girlfriend was freakin' about this too at first. But once she saw what we could do for her, she was totally on board after that."

"Come on, Mar," Lance chimed in, "I think you owe us at least a shot to convince you and all."

But Martha was clearly not going to participate—as was evidence in her rigid form and tightened, fearful eyes. She backed away from all three boys, deeper into the underside, where the bleacher decline was nearing closer to the ground. "Please just stay away from me, all of you..."

"Come on, Mar," Kip persisted as he and the other boys tracked her movements. "Just once..."

She was crying now, begging with her eyes. "...Please..."

The three boys began to converge on her.

"It won't hurt...we're good."

"Yeah, we know what to do."

"Don't cry, it'll ruin it."

Her face was wrenched and shivering as she warned, "...I'll scream..."

"Well sure...hopefully in the right way, if we do our job right."

"It'd just be better if you stop your crying, though."

"Yeah, come on...settle down."

"Hey, don't worry...we'll help you relax..."

"You might as well settle down...because this is gonna happen."

Frozen with dread, Martha tried to scream.

And the three boys quickly descended on her.

Paul so desperately wanted to find Tab, to persuade her to give him one more chance. He needed her in his life, of that he was certain.

But where to find her, that was the big question at this point. He could call her back to try and convince her to reveal her location. But he had a strong suspicion that she wouldn't pick up the call a second time.

So his mind began to work on where she _might_ be, all of the possibilities available. Her parent's house seemed like an option but too obvious a choice. Her dorm room would equally be too easy a locale. A relative's house perhaps: a cousin or an aunt and uncle, her older sister in New Hampshire. But that last one was a long shot to be sure, Tab was in the middle of a school semester and couldn't afford to be jetting off far away.

No, she had to be somewhere close, in the city area. But where? he challenged his mind...and also asked himself, am I _losing_ my mind? Stalking his wife like this was what he would typically arrest someone for perpetrating.

But it's not as if he meant to hurt Tab in any way, he just wanted one more shot at making things work.

It may even be crucial that he knows where she is. If something went wrong, something unforeseeable, then Paul would be able to assist. Granted, it was pushing the plausibility of his current desire to find her, but any straw of rationality was worth grasping at this point.

Her friend, Patrick's apartment might be a distinct possibility. They had been good friends since middle school, and frequently kept in touch. But would that be too obvious as well...?

He decided to try it anyway. He entered his car and looked up Patrick's address on his front dash police monitor. It was all touch screen nowadays.

He found the right address then started the engine, told himself this was crazy, and drove away.

"You're gonna help me, right?" Harmony prodded him as Virg was faced away from her. "It's only a couple of hundred, it's not like it'll ruin your college fund or anything."

Virg didn't want to answer her. He honestly didn't know how to answer her. This was insanity, pure and simple, and he wished he was someone else.

"Well?" she persisted.

"Why did this have to happen?"

"We were drunk, the opportunity was there. It happens. What is your answer? Come on, you can't back out on me."

"...What if..." He faced her again. "...what if...we go to your dad together, and explain that we're really sorry for what we've done...and maybe we can put the kid up for adoption—?"

"Do you _not_ know my father?!"

"Well dammit, I don't wanna kill a little baby, Harmony!"

"I don't want to either, but what kind of a life would we be able to give it?!"

"Wait a minute..." he said as a solution came to him. " _My_ father might be able to help us! I mean, he's married again, and he has a new family, but maybe he'll take us in during the whole pregnancy, and then—"

" _No_...no, I know you, Virg, once the baby comes, you'll change your mind and wanna keep it... _I_ might even change my mind. And that leads us back to ruined lives and ruined dreams. Forget it, I'm doing this—and like I said, I know you're the type to hold up your end of the responsibility. At least _you_ don't have to have the procedure done."

Virg's mind was exploding with conflict. Dark, primal thoughts began to pop up: _Maybe I should run. Run to my father and not even tell anyone but my mom...maybe not even her. Maybe if I don't pay for it she'll be forced to have the kid. And she'll raise it on her own, or meet some guy who will help her raise the child. Maybe it's for the best that I run far away and never come back..._

But no, she was right, he wasn't that person. He would have to step up and help her...but what would truly be helping her, what was the solution? _Think, Virg, think..._

The end of the school day had come, and Avery was in a mental state of panic.

He so desperately wanted to just run, run in a different direction than he normally took to get home. Exit school in a covert way so that no one saw him leave.

But what good would that do when tomorrow came? And the bullies found him in the halls or the track field of school? They would make good on their threat to "flatten" him.

So Avery reluctantly, feeling sick to his stomach, headed off on his normal way home. Where he knew that the boys would be waiting for him somewhere along the path. He knew Chris would be there with them. And that he would be craving some revenge on the little China Boy, whose sister had knocked him into the dirt. Time for a Chen to feel some pain and humiliation.

He walked his route and eventually spotted the boys gathered up ahead. They clearly saw him and began chatting to each other, possibly saying things like, "Here comes China Boy." or "It's time to see what's what." and the like. But they didn't take their eyes off of Avery, they watched him as they took each unnerving step toward them. All too soon, he was before them, silent and terrified.

"China Boy! You made it!" Clay said with false enthusiasm. "Guess who I've got for ya!" He put his arm around Chris, who then smiled at Avery.

"Hey, Chris," Avery said depressively.

"Hey, Avon Lady," Chris responded, keeping his smile. "I heard your sister moved away to college. I bet you miss her _real_ bad right about now."

"I'd be careful, Chris," Clay jokingly warned, "She might have taught him her Kung Pao."

"She didn't. Look at him. He's about ready to pee his pants, dude."

"Maybe he's trying to fake you out. Those China chinks are pretty sneaky, Chris."

"Yeah, we'll see about that..."

Chapter 52

The agents on the dock had reformed yet again; charred to a crisp and missing a few sections of their bodies. But they were still sentient, still fueled by chaotic energies that possessed them. They moved forth and dropped into the water, intent on swimming, plodding through the currents to catch the fleeing Yorktown.

The ship was only a quarter mile off from the harbor. With the powerful swim, the agents could reach the massive boat in a matter of minutes, ten at least.

Then they would unleash utter chaos upon those who were threatening their world.

Their realm had been content to visit the minds of slumbering people for centuries; infecting their dreams with nonsensical havoc. And thus gaining wavelengths of sustenance to bring back to their plane of reality.

But then someone or someones had reversed the flow, opened the gateway from the other side. And made things clear that all bets were off.

If wavelengths from this world could now transfer to their realm—and possibly affect it, change it, threaten its hegemony of anarchistic nirvana—then that threat had to be eliminated. Clear minds and straight thinking spelled death to their chaotic reality, their core existence.

And even chaos wanted to live.

It was almost like some twisted funhouse maze Roddy and Marta were leading the others through as they traveled to medical. The walls were uneven, warped, as well as the ceiling and flooring. Pipes looked crooked and inverted.

Madison, who accompanied Marta and the children, wondered how long the ship would stay afloat if the damage managed to spread. Who knew how destructive this "virus" was.

Minutes later, they entered the medical bay and Madison introduced the new arrivals to everyone—even the catatonic ones in the beds.

"You did what?" Baxter asked Roddy and Marta in awe. Madison had just revealed their remarkable deed.

"They used their blood," Madison answered for them. "Now I don't know if that qualifies them for Straight Arrow, but I have a feeling at least one of them should be participating. But I'd like to keep one of 'em awake in case more of those things show up."

"But which one do I send through?" Baxter asked.

Marta and Roddy faced each other. She bent down to his level, "I'll let you make the call, Roddy..." she said.

He answered, "You're bigger. That means you have more blood in your body...But the question is: will it be enough to stop all of them? Will you sacrifice yourself if it comes to it, to protect us all in here?"

Marta looked at Celia, who was staring back at her. Then she turned her eyes back to Roddy. "...If it comes to it, I'll use every last drop of blood to stop these things. I swear it, honey. To both of you."

"Then it's me who goes through," Roddy finalized, having already been explained what was involved in Straight Arrow on the walk to medical.

And as they prepped the boy for his mind's journey, Baxter conveyed to him exactly what to expect once the transmigration was accomplished. Roddy didn't like what was ahead, of course, but he knew it had to be done.

The life support apparatus was hooked up to Roddy as he lay in the second to last empty bed in the room. Baxter then administered the drug in his eye. He blinked a few times as it worked its way into his system.

Celia approached him and knelt down to face him close up. "Roddy, there's one thing I wanted to say to you..."

"What is it, sis?" he asked.

"...When we last played War, I'm pretty sure you fumbled on purpose..."

"Come on, what are you talking about—?"

"I know you did, don't try to deny it. I know that you occasionally let me win so I would still play the game when you wanted me to."

"Was it that obvious?"

"M-hm."

"I just didn't want you to feel bad."

"I know."

"But when I faked the fumble the last time, I didn't count on the broken glass buried in the dirt."

"But because you didn't see it, you got cut and your hand bled...And now we know that you'll be able to help stop all of this."

"I'm going to give it my best shot, Celia."

"You better, brother...This is War for _real..._ "

He nodded with intensity and determination. "...Love you, sis."

"Me too, Roddy," she said back, "Make it back to me, okay?"

"Okay..." He began to feel quite drowsy; the drug was taking effect, performing the first stages of its engineered purpose. Within seconds he was under.

Celia lifted herself up and stood by Marta. They put their arms around each other for comfort as they faced Roddy. Marta uttered, "Vaya con Dios, un niño pequeño."

"I'm scared," Celia told her, "Scared that no matter what we do, it won't be enough."

"Me too, little one."

From behind them, a jittery voice said, "Y-your name i-is Marta-ta?"

Marta and Celia turned to witness a shivering Mary staring up at them. Marta responded, "Yes, it is."

"M-my s-s-s-sister's name is Martha."

"Yes...I caught that," she acknowledge with a polite grin.

"I-I-I can't w-w-wait for you t-to meet-meet her."

"I hope I get to." Her smile remained but her eyes were heavy with worry.

Chapter 53

Paul had found her. He saw her car just outside Patrick's apartment building. He knew the vehicle was hers because of the license plate number.

_And so now what?_ his mind asked. _You found her, so what? If you go in there to talk to her, you'll just make things worse; you know that in your gut._

Oh but dammit, I need to see her...This is just plain nuts! I've worked so hard to achieve my career status, sacrificed many things to make it happen...

But why do I now feel like dumping it all to pledge myself to her?

_Yes, why do you? Why_ would _you?_ he warred with himself. _It's not like you couldn't meet someone in the future who is better able to handle your lifestyle. Your demanding hours. Some women were born to be cop wives._

(Terrific, Paul...there's just one problem with that...none of those women would be Tab.)

... _Wait, who is that...?_

(What do you mean, who is that? You should know...)

You're a little kid, you sound like one, anyway...What are you doing inside my head?

(I've been here all along, Paul, I'm kinda hurt that you don't recognize me.)

Your voice sounds familiar, like I used to hear it all the time, but...

(You did, Paul...it used to be yours.)

What...?

(Come on, Paul, you're too savvy for this. This thing may have you inside it, but it doesn't own you...come to the answer...)

... _You're me...as I was in a simpler time in my life...as a child of nine or ten...When things were so set and clear to me._

(Bingo. Now what else, Paul?)

... _I've...I've...lived this before, haven't I?_

(Bingo again. Keep going...)

... _And it isn't de ja vu or any other trick of the mind..._

(...Yeahh...?)

... _You said I was inside something..._

(...I did, yes...)

... _This something is not from our world,_ our _reality..._

(...almost there, Paul...)

... _None of this is real!_

(HOMERUN, the crowd goes wild!)

And now that I've realized this, the things I think are around me are going to fade away...

(That's right, so you better hurry to that apartment door before it all goes. Telling her what you've truly decided will—)

Will help me become clearer...and closer to you.

(HURRY...)

Paul blasted his door open and rushed to the proper door of the apartment building.

Things were losing their color around him...

He banged on the door and hollered, "Tab, you there?! It's me, Paul! Open up, it's important!"

A few seconds later, the door opened a bit to reveal Tab's good friend, Patrick. "Hello, Paul," he evenly said. His color was fading.

"Patrick, I _need_ to see Tab _immediately_! Please get her for me!"

"Paul, listen, _now_ is not a good time. If you just give her some space—"

But Paul didn't wait—he pushed past Patrick to enter the apartment where he began frantically searching for Tab.

"Paul...! _Paul_!" Patrick protested after him.

Finally, Paul found Tab huddled up in a spare bedroom. She rose instantly upon seeing her frantic husband. "Paul, this _isn't_ helping—"

"Well, maybe this might—" Paul started.

But Patrick interrupted, "Tab, I'm sorry, he just barged in..."

"It's okay, Pat, it isn't your fault," Tab said.

The room was losing serious color, objects began to melt, droop, and disfigure...

"Tab, listen _just_ for one second, okay?" Paul got out in desperation.

" _What,_ Paul?" she said in numb exasperation.

" _Screw_ my job..."

"Oh, _come on,_ Paul..."

"No, seriously, screw it. If I lose you, I lose the best part of myself. I'll teach at the academy or something, I've done it before. But I _won't lose_ you... _okay_?"

She stared at him for a brief moment, studying his face, making sure he was committed to what he was saying. To him, she was almost an outline of white.

"...Okay," she relented and smiled the palest of smiles. And went to him, allowing the two to embrace tightly.

And the world flashed brilliant light all about them. But not for long....

Virg thought with tragic irony, how could a girl named Harmony bring about so much distress to someone's life?

The girl in question announced, "I'm going to have it done next week after finals. I don't want to risk missing any of those in case something goes wrong. Just meet me by the clinic with the money, and I'll do the rest. You can wait outside or something if you want. I'll probably need a ride anyway...Are you listening?"

He was, in fact, though he was staring away, despondent and wholly confused.

"...Hello?"

"Yeah, I heard you," he finally said.

"So, _okay?_ "

He breathed a deep breath, let it out. "...Okay...I guess so..."

"It's for the best, trust me."

"...I wish I could believe you..."

"How are you getting the money?"

"Don't know...Call my dad I guess and...see if he'll give it to me..."

"Your mom would probably know if you took it out of your college fund, huh?"

"Probably."

"Well, good luck with your dad, and if you can't get the full amount—which is $350 actually—then maybe I can borrow a bit from some friends. We'll see, okay? Don't feel bad about this, it happens all the time. And someday we _will_ be ready for families and all that, and we've got solid careers going and all. Okay?"

"...Okay..." He didn't sound like it was.

"Come on, we're not bad people, you know that. It's not even a fully formed baby right now, it's just a tiny little odd looking thing at this point—"

"That's not making me feel any better about this, Harm."

"All right, sorry...Look, all I'm trying to say is, let's not be hypocrites, okay? I mean, we all kill lower life forms all the time; we eat eggs which are what— _hello?_ — _bird_ embryos..."

"I get what you're saying, Harm, it's just...not gonna make this feel any less screwed up."

She looked away, contemplating. "...Well...it doesn't have to, I suppose..." She faced him again resolutely, "...But I do need you to do this for me...because I can't do it all on my own...I'll see you around, Virg."

She turned and walked off, leaving him with horrid thoughts.

Yet one thought seemed random—and out of place...

_But you_ did _miss a few finals, Harmony...you did, I'm almost sure of it...And you had to make them up another day!_

But why...?

He looked at his environment, at the trees in the quad area for some odd reason. Within the thick of a tree's braches, an abandoned bird's nest was secured, with eggs already hatched.

Except for one.

One was bad...

And suddenly, he knew exactly why Harmony was going to miss a particular day of finals...

He sprinted after her and eventually caught up. As he stopped her, he blurted, "Harmony, I'm not going to do it!"

She screwed up her face in frustration. As she said, "Oh, _come on_ , Virg, I thought we figured this out—"

"I _did_...I figured it out...This has _already_ happened—a long time ago!"

" _What_?" Now her cinched brow was from staunch confusion.

"I'm not going to give you the money, Harm—because it's _not necessary_!"

"It most certainly _is_ —because I don't have that kind of money—!"

" _No_! You're not getting me!"

"Then what _are_ you trying to say?!" She moved closer to confront him, threat in her voice. "I'm not _going_ to some back alley—"

" _No_ , no, no, no...Harm...next week you will miss a day of finals—because you will _have_ a miscarriage."

The world around them began to drain a bit of its natural hues.

"How could you _possibly_ know that?!" she blasted to him.

"Because I've lived this before!"

"You've gone wacko, Virg..."

"No, I'm as clear-headed as can be! I know that this whole thing, everything I see, is _just_ a memory of mine—brought to life by something that feeds off of chaos and confusion!"

The hues of everything became quite pale now, like a film reel that was old and neglected.

"You need help, boy," Harmony persisted, "Just have the money by next w—"

" _No,_ no... _you're_ the one that definitely needs help, girl! Both you _and_ your father! Because even if I didn't know that this was a memory, I _still_ wouldn't help you do this! I would make sure that everyone knew—your father, my mother, my father, everyone! And if you had to go to effing Siberia to raise the baby, I would see you to it, girl!"

"Go to hell!!!" she hollered—but her vicious retort was drowning out...

As white light engulfed her and the entire draining, warping scene of Virg's memory. It was blinding, intense. But in the next instant it was gone.

Lance and Seth were holding Martha's arms while Kip was sitting on her, holding a forceful hand over her mouth. Martha's eyes were bulging with unreal fear. She muffled desperate moans under his hand.

Kip spoke, "Now just calm down, Mar, don't make us do stuff we don't want to do, _okay_?"

He slowly took his hand off of her mouth, hoping she would not do anything rash like scream. She did—and he had to press his hand back over her mouth again. "Dammit, Martha, you're making this a lot more difficult than it has to be. Now what am I to do with you here?"

"Dude, I hate to say it but..." Seth began, "...we're going to have to threaten her with something. We don't want her going to somebody about this."

Lance asked, "Yeah but what? Her sisters, maybe?"

"That might work. If Mar here tells, then we...I don't know, threaten 'em somehow, trash their reputations around school..."

"Or we pay some guys to come along and beat up the two of 'em, some'n like that maybe."

" _Or_ ," Kip emphasized to his friends, "We could give her one more chance to see that she doesn't have to be so childish about this whole thing."

"I don't know, man," Lance replied, "she seems pretty set on resisting us."

"I see that, but I still think we can stop this from becoming a situation."

"It's already a situation," Seth put in.

Ignoring Seth, Kip addressed Martha, "Mar...listen...I'm being straight with you...I can't stop my friends from doing the things they're suggesting to your sisters... _unless_ you were to show us a little trust...Now I think I speak for the guys and myself here when I say that we would still want this to happen. And it could be so good...if you just trust us...then we could trust you...not to go to anybody about this...What do you say?"

Martha looked down as if considering her options, as disturbing as they were.

Kip went on as calm as he could muster, "...Now...I'm gonna take my hand off _one_ more time..."

Slowly he did so...and this time, Martha decided not to scream. Her younger sisters were under threat now, and she loved them more than most things on earth. She considered it her job as the oldest to protect them from harm. If she had to endure these human jackals, give her body to them, to save Mary and Mandy from their threats of terror...

"Whaddya say, Mar?" Kip tried in a softened voice.

Darting her eyes in severe mental tension, she eventually uttered, "Okay."

"For real, Mar?" Kip asked in hope yet suspicion.

"Just don't hurt my sisters or even involve them...and I'll do it."

"Really, all we want is for everyone to come out of this happy and satisfied, yeah?"

She nodded quickly, before she lost the nerve to do so.

"...Okay...whaddya say, guys? Let go of her arms?" He eyed Lance and Seth.

Slowly, tentatively, the two boys released their iron grips on her upper arms.

Martha didn't try to run. She remained in her downed, seated position.

Seth tried, "Hey listen, Mar, I'm sorry about the thing with your sisters. Obviously, Lance and I wouldn't want to do any of that stuff we suggested."

Lance added, "Yeah, honestly, sorry about that. It felt wrong to bring it up."

Kip encouraged, "Well, I think we can make it up to her by giving her our best, whaddya think, guys?"

"I'd like that, yeah..." Seth agreed.

"Sounds good to me. It's not like we don't have the skills and all," Lance added with a knowing smile.

Kip focused on Martha again. "Honestly, hon, Lance isn't exaggerating. All three of us have pretty much perfected our techniques. I mean, you're guaranteed to have at least one or two."

"At least," Lance emphasized.

"You might multiple, and wouldn't that be the awesome," Seth suggested.

"...Sure," Martha offered with a thin, weak smile.

Kip started to laugh as something occurred to him. "We, uh...we actually have names for our different techniques. Lance calls his the 'Noodle' technique."

"I'm a big pasta man," Lance admitted with a toothy grin. The other boys chuckled.

Martha gave off the tiniest of laughs to placate them. But really she just wanted to profusely vomit.

Kip went on jovially, "And Seth's is the 'Shooting Star' technique."

Seth boasted with bright eyes, "Yeah, it's because you should be seeing shooting stars by the end of it all." He smiled wide.

Martha managed to twitch a half-grin.

Lance said, "Tell 'er your technique, Kip."

Kip admitted, "Oh, mine's just called the 'Verticle' technique. You'll see."

And all three boys chuckled again, pleased with themselves; and feeling confident that they were winning Martha over.

(Yours is called the Lao Chi technique...)

_Who was that?_ Martha's mind asked, caught off guard.

(Oh honey, come on, don't you recognize me? We trained for five years, I brought new focus to your life...)

... _I don't know..._

(Honey, this thing has really done a number on you, hasn't it?)

What thing?

(You better start to focus, honey, your sister is relying on you.)

"Hey, I'll get things started," Kip offered in good nature. And began unbuttoning his shirt.

The other two boys started with the same thing. They were all looking at Martha to follow suit...which she did—slowly, reluctantly...

My sister...? Which sister?

_(The one that's still breathing, honey...the one that won't be for long if you don't get with it and_ focus... _You know what I trained you in, don't you?)_

... _Martial arts?_

(Verrrry good, honey. Lao Chi is a very specific type of Tai Kwan Do...)

... _That you developed yourself?_

(That's right, honey...It calls for maximum flexibility and reach maneuvers...We worked on your flexibility alone for a good six months before even learning the basic moves...)

" _Wow_ , that is an awesome bra, Martha," Seth commented, mesmerized. "And an awesome chest, too..."

"...Thanks," Martha said flatly.

(Remember those moves...)

I can't...I'm too terrified to focus...they're gonna make me do this...

(Not if you stop them...not if you knock them flat!)

_With_ what?

(With oh so many maneuvers to attack, honey...)

I must be losing my mind here...I must've had a mental break, hearing voices in my head like this...

_(Not yet...but if you allow these charming dogs to do to you what you actually_ did _allow them to do, you_ will _have a meltdown!)_

You mean this has happened...already?

(Focus, honey, this is just a memory you've been forced to relive. But fortunately for you, this particular incident of memory is what first brought you to me.)

_But_ who are _you, what's your name?_

(When you figure that out, hon, you will have remembered how to deal with this brand of charming scum.)

Don't do this to me...

(You're _the one not remembering, dear...)_

The boys had removed most of their clothing by now—save for their underwear. They seemed confident that no one was going to come around to interrupt their fun. Behind the bleachers stood a large, bleacher-length storage shed. Nobody would be seeing things from that direction. And beyond _that_ were the outside basketball/volleyball courts. No classroom buildings were near the track field.

And, of course, the boys had done this before with whatever girl they had roped into this sort of thing.

None of them seemed worried in the least.

Which made Martha sick.

She had removed all of her outer clothing, she was now only in her bra and panties. She felt chilled.

"She's my girlfriend, of course, so—" Kip started.

"Yeah, yeah, we know," Seth said, "You get to start things off."

Kip was in the middle of the other two boys, and he now slowly came forth to attempt to draw Martha into his arms. She allowed it to happen. The other two drew near them in a casual yet determined manner. They seemed intent on observing for the moment.

What is your NAME?! Why can't I get it?!

(Because you're still focused on your fear of these boys. You need to pretend with them while shutting them out entirely. Your mind must redirect to calmer waters, as they say.)

But I can't, I'm too freakin' scared!

(Then you will be stuck here. And your sister will die because of you.)

NO!

(Focus.)

Kip was moving in closer to tentatively, softly kiss Martha on the lips. She felt a fresh wave of revulsion and thought she might puke.

(Don't throw up, hon, you'll ruin it...)

I'm trying! What is your NAME?!

(You know it, focus. And hurry, your sister is slipping...)

Don't say that!

(Look, honey, if you remember anything, remember that I taught you calm in the storm, to be serene and centered in any crisis situation...Now do it.)

Kip was kissing Martha more passionately now, forcing open her mouth and finding her tongue with his. The other two boys hypnotically moved in a bit closer, only a foot's distance on either side of Kip and Martha.

(Leave them, they don't matter, they are waste material, leave them far behind. Only the search for my name matters now...only the search for your center...)

Kip began caressing her back, finding the bra strap's middle fastener for an attempt at unhooking...

(Search...deep within the center...and find us, find all of us who were just like you, facing similar traumas in our lives...)

He unhooked it and the back straps fell away from each other. He began to raise his hands slowly to the shoulder straps...

(There was Carla, who was raped by her uncle; Sandra, who was mugged twice in one year; Megan, who let her husband beat her and her children for years; need I go on?)

No...no, I remember now...

He slid the shoulder straps down, and now the only thing keeping her bra on was the pressing together of Kip's and Martha's chests...

(And do you remember me now? In all my African American glory?)

Yes.

(And who am I?)

Your name is Roberta...Roberta Cantrell...

(And is that all, hon?)

No...

_(What_ else _do they call me?)_

... _They call you The Kicker._

Martha suddenly squeezed Kip tight around his torso, arched herself back, and quick-swung up an almost impossible straight kick to jam Seth in the throat.

"HEY!" Lance screamed in shock and anger, as Seth crumpled to the ground, desperate for air.

But Martha was fast onto her next maneuver—which was to bite deep into Kip's tongue. He muffled an agonizing scream that went on and on. She was glued to his lips and wouldn't let go, despite the rush of blood from inside his mouth. She still had an iron grip around him.

Lance reacted in the next instant by soaring a hardened fist at Martha's cheek. But she had both feet on the ground again now, and had the balance to twist herself and Kip about, so that Lance's fist went slamming into the back of Kip's head. The thickness of the skull instantly shattered Lance's knuckles; and he recoiled in agony, moaning and cupping his other hand to the damaged one. For the moment, it was all that he could deal with.

Seth was still on the ground, both hands strapped to his throat, hoarsing out pathetically strained breaths.

Martha fast brought both herself and Kip back about again so that they stood straighter. But then she quickly repositioned her right leg to somewhat wrap around _his_ right leg—then with great force swiped both his legs out from under him. She let go of him at the same time and he plopped to the ground before her; finally able to get his hands up to his bleeding mouth. He moaned and squealed in sharp misery. Her bra had fallen on top of him but she didn't care. She was only focused on one thing.

Which was to slam her foot straight down into his abdomen. The impact caused him to double up and crouch on his side in misery. He felt as if his gut was going to explode. Kip now joined Seth in gasping for breath that seemed not to come.

Lance, however... "Youuu b—!" He came for her with a bit of a stagger from the shock of pain. But his aim was still true as he took another swing with his uninjured left fist.

But she dodged the hit while caging his left arm with both of hers. With the vice hold, she jerked his arm uncomfortably straight and taught. A weird grunt escaped his clenched teeth.

But it was nothing compared to the next instant when she alternated her pressing vices inward—to snap his arm at the elbow joint.

Then he hollered. And fell to his knees.

She kicked him in the jaw and he fully hit the ground, semi-conscious and dazed with pain.

Seth was starting to rise, making it to a crawl position. But he wasn't moving quickly, he still had trouble trying to breathe.

Martha simply walked over, stood behind him, and launched a vicious kick into his groin. He faltered with a weak yet prolonged gasp back down to the dirted ground...which happened to be losing its color...

Once she was confident that none of the boys were getting back up again, she walked over to pick up her bra, put it on, then the rest of her clothes as well.

When she was finished, she noticed a peculiar thing taking place: the scene about her was draining, misshaping...

But she found that she really didn't care about it. If she had truly lost her mind, then this was a madness she could love.

She walked past the traumatized boys sprawled on the glitching, pale ground then turned to face them. A steel calm was in her eyes. "That was for all the girls I trained with, and found their way out of victimhood...But most of all, it was for a black woman named Roberta—who survived _years_ of beatings from her mother and raping from her father...And you're lucky it was _me_ you were facing and not her. Because she wouldn't have stopped until every bone in your body was broken...But if you _ever_ touch my sisters, I guarantee you that's exactly what you'll get."

She turned back around and walked out the way she had come in. The brightness of the fading afternoon ironically began to get brighter and brighter the closer she got to the triangular opening...

Until the light washed out her vision—then suddenly disappeared.

And showed her the true madness about her.

Avery had a terrible feeling that he would be spending the evening in a hospital bed...with a tube up his nose, possibly. The kind of look in Chris' eyes seemed to carry that kind of intention for the twelve-year-old boy. A boy whose older sister and protector was a few thousand miles away.

"Come on, China Boy," Chris offered, "I'll even give you the first move—see if your sister taught you anything before she bailed."

Clay, smiling, put in, "Careful, Chris, maybe China Boy here was the teacher..."

"I _seriously_ doubt that, dude," Chris replied but kept his eyes on Avery. "But let's see...let's see what his Kung Pao looks like..." And they waited. But Avery did nothing.

"Come on, China Boy!" someone cried, "Kung Pao!"

Soon, everyone around Chris and Avery began chanting "Kung Pao!" over and over again.

And Avery began to look down in dejection. Because the truth of the matter was, he wasn't his sister. He didn't learn any of her moves and had not one ounce of interest in martial arts.

He was going to the hospital, he knew it.

The crowd kept up the chant for a good few minutes. Finally it died out.

And Chris said to Avery, "Come on, boy...I told you, you could have the first swing..."

Avery kept his eyes to the ground, and didn't move.

"You got nothing...don't ya?"

Burning with shame, Avery shook his head, eyes downward still.

"All right then..." Chris continued, "Let's get this over with..." And he came for Avery, fists ready.

"Wait..." Avery spoke up.

"...What?" He halted.

"You...you like Bailey Logan, don't you?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Well...I'm-I'm pretty good with writing, maybe I could write her some poetry or romantic stuff for you."

Chris screwed up his face a bit as he boasted, "I don't need you to do all that pansy ass crap, I can get her all on my own charm...Try again, China."

"What about schoolwork...any subject you're having problems with?"

"My dad does all my work for me, and I got people who give me the tests before I take 'em."

"But...but then...you won't learn enough to get a job or—"

" _I'm_ going to auto school whether I graduate or not...Try again."

(Yes, try again...and make it good!)

... _Huh?_ Avery asked the voice in his head. It was an adult male's voice.

(Keep me off of you as long as you can!)

... _What?_

(Focus, Ave, because I'm coming for you!)

Oh God...I'm losing it...

"No?" Chris asked Avery, "Okay..." And he closed in once more.

" _Money_...I'll get you some money, how much do you want?" Avery tried.

"How 'bout a million? That's how much it would take for me to forget that your sister made a _fool_ out of me in front of everyone."

"Better rob a bank, China Boy," one of the crowd said.

"Shoot, man, I'd take the money then _still_ beat the crap out of him," another said, and got laughs from the boys.

(Dammit, Ave, you've got to find a better way to fend me off!)

...CHRIS?

(Yes, it's me, Chris, godfather to your children, Ave. Now think!)

... _I can't think! I don't know what this is, what are you doing inside my head?! And I'm twelve! I don't have any children—_

(Yes, you do, just not when this mem—Listen, I'm about to cream you, you need to convince me that pounding on you is a horrible mistake!)

So Avery attempted, " _Chris_ , if you do this you're going to regret it, _badly_..."

Chris stopped once more and, with raised brows, said, " _Ohh_...?"

" _Yes_...you and I...we're...we're going to be close friends..."

This brought some laughter from the boys staring down Avery. Chris, of course, joined in. "... _Really?_ Close friends, huh? Wow..." Trying to reign in his laughing, he asked, "How do you figure that, China Boy?"

_Yeah, Chris from my head, how_ do _you figure that?_

(The accident, Ave—the one that takes my entire family away from me...)

_It_ does?

_(Yes, my mother and father, my little brother and sister, all of 'em...And there's no one else who can afford to take me in...No one... except_ your _parents.)_

...We _take you in?_

(That's right...I was destroyed, Ave, I was left with nothing...But the people who had every right to resent me took me in anyway.)

... _Wow..._

(...Yeah...You actually forgave me—and believe it or not, I became like a big brother to you...And eventually, like I said, became godfather to Mae-Lin and Thuan, your two amazing kids.)

"Stop stalling, China. We _ain't_ gonna be getting chummy and all that crap. I'm going to smash you down into the pavement and that's the end of story." And Chris advanced yet again, fists tensed and ready.

"B-but—the accident!" Avery blurted, backing away from Chris.

"I said stop stalling," Chris ordered, losing his temper.

"No, no, the accident, the one with your family!"

" _What_ are you talking about?" Chris asked with confusion.

"The accident—the car accident...it's going to kill all of them! In a few months from now!"

"...Are you _threatening_ my family somehow?!" Chris took another step toward Avery.

"No! _No!_ It's not me, I had nothing to do with it! It was an accident, a drunk driver steered onto the wrong side of the road and crashed head on into them!"

"I'm gonna crush your skull, little boy..." And Chris raised his fist, ready for the swing...

"But no one could take you in but us—my family!" Avery got out fast as he cringed and winced his eyes shut tightly.

Chris suddenly halted his throw of the intended punch. "...What...? What did you just say?"

" _My family_ takes you in, because there isn't anyone else who can do it..."

This seemed to flummox Chris into almost total mental lockdown. Still, he uttered, "...Why would they do that after what I've done to you...?"

"...Because, my parents always say, save your enemy...and you save yourself."

Clay and the other boys looked completely baffled and put out. Clay murmured, "What-the-hell?"

Chris was still confused himself...but something was hitting his thoughts. "...You're right, they _do_ say that...But how would I know that...?"

"Because," Avery said, "you're part of my mind..."

Suddenly, the scene around Avery hiccupped a visual glitch...

Avery went on, "And what you know is what I know..."

Everything was turning slowly to black and white, then gray and white...

"And _all_ of you are just recreations from a memory stored in my brainwaves...from a _long_ time ago..."

Things began to resemble a surreal, Salvador Dali painting...

"And if I remember correctly, the one who got his lights put out in the end...was _you_ , Clay...when Chris, here, tore you a new one almost a year after this memory's time."

The scene was almost completely washed out of color and warping worse with each second.

But before it did entirely, Avery could make out a wavering yet seethingly mad Clay come running forth to try and clock Avery good with his right fist. Avery simply smiled through it, however, and as the soaring fist was about to hit him, the world exploded with total white.

Then vanished to release Avery's mind into the thriving chaos realm once more.

Chapter 54

Delia was humming. Humming and humming and humming.

Kenneth held her as tight as he could in the dank cellar of the house. He knew the humming was only Delia's fragile mind trying to cope with the insanity outside.

Kenneth knew the tune she was humming. And it was another thing that chilled him to the bone. It was a song that the Green Sky folks used to gather and sing in trying times.

"Delia..." Kenneth tried, but she kept humming. "Delia, hon...when you say...he's lost to us...I need to know exactly what you mean...because it sounds like something that Green Sky would say...to excommunicate a _challenged_ person."

She remained humming, as if she couldn't hear him.

"Delia?"

Humming.

"Delia, baby..."

Humming.

"Delia, look at me." He moved himself to face her head on, staring intensely into her unfocused eyes. "You know where he is, don't you?" It was less of a question, more of an accusation. As she began the song again, he finally barked, "Delia!"

Suddenly her eyes locked on his, her humming ceased.

"Michael, Delia...you know where he is—and you've got to take me there _now_ ," Kenneth demanded.

"...What good would it do now, Kenneth?" she finally spoke in a haze of fear. "The Destroyers must have him by now..."

That was almost an admission, he thought.

" _Where,_ Delia...where did you leave him?"

She seemed to lose a bit of her focus on him, her eyes searching about quickly. Was he breaking her? "...We can't go out there...I can't do it," she told him.

"Then I'll go out there and find him," Kenneth resolved in frustration, "But I need to know _where._ "

"Don't leave me..." she pleaded, holding on to his arms.

"Then come with me, but I can't stay here if Mikey's in danger!" he angrily insisted.

She plopped her head down and jammed her eyes shut, squealing a tormented moan.

"Delia, _let's go, now_..." he raged at her.

She lifted her head, opened her fearful eyes, and finally rose herself up along with her brother. Panting with fright, she accompanied him out of the cellar, through the living room, and out into the cold of day.

Chapter 55

The chaos agents emerged from the now choppy waters to begin scaling the hull of the Yorktown. For some of them, it was more of a difficult climb, with missing limbs miring their progress. But it mattered little in the end, all would reach the top to the outer deck quite soon. And then the fun would start as they let loose their oily-dark virus on everything aboard the vessel.

Chapter 56

As Roddy's conscious, illuminant field of brainwaves soared through the bright green, tunnel, a single thought kept sparking: _this is War for real._

He had been warned that confusion-hungry spheres of light would seek him out—and make him relive some harrowing experiences in his life.

Well he was going to see about that, see just how fast and determined they would be to snatch him up. Maybe they would be too fast for him to avoid...

...but Roddy doubted it. War was his game, and a child's self-centered pride ran a strong streak through his waves.

And real or for play, no one or nothing beat Roddy at War.

The tunnel ended and thrust his mind's energies out into the vast madness of the alternate reality. He could intermittently see numerous bright spheres traveling in different directions, and at varying distances. The strobing was going to make it harder for him to track the spheres, but he was game for it, he was ready for all takers...

A sphere dove for him...

He let it get close...

Dangerously close...

And then he shot off further, avoiding the sphere entirely. It swooped around to chase his fleeing waves, and he could sense it was pursuing him.

He ordered his waves to bank a hard right in hopes of throwing the sphere off his back. It worked, but only for second, as the sphere altered course to race after him once more.

_For a thing that feeds on confusion and chaos, it sure is a straight racer,_ Roddy pondered as he noticed the sphere had reacquired him. _Well, let's see what you can do with this..._

And the field of Roddy's brainwaves banked left, zigged right, spiraled around a few times, then rocketed in another direction.

The sphere lost track of his movements, and travelled on in another path.

_Yes!_ Roddy's thoughts shouted, but then realized another sphere was gunning for him. As it got closer and closer, he raged: _Come on! Just try me!_

Again, he let it almost ensnare him—and then he became a shooting star once more. The sphere gave chase after him.

But then another sphere joined the speeding hunt, running almost along side the other sphere.

Then another joined in.

And another...

Elsewhere, Paul's neural core tried its damnedest to avoid another sphere, but the cursed energy orb wanted his confusion too badly—and it finally engulfed its prey.

And yet again, Paul was made to forget his true purpose in coming to this world.

Instead, he was brought back to a week ago, when he had pursued Terrance, the First Final Witnesses zealot, and his wife and child. Pursued them through back alleyways and through a derelict tenement building.

He had found the three squatters huddled in one of the hollowed out rooms of the building. And finding that they were of no help, he was about to search on...

When the cough came...

And Paul reentered the squatters' room to find the Landry family packed in the broken-doored closet.

And Terrance had a wooden spike to his son's throat.

"Now let's just be calm and think about this, Terrance," Paul said as he held his .45 at the aim to the tensed father.

"You will not take my family away from me!" Terrance shouted at Paul.

"Look at Joey, look what you're doing to him, you've got a weapon to your son's throat."

"You've forced this on me!"

"Terrance..." his wife, Sarah uttered as she noticed their son was bottoming out on his breathing.

"Not now, Sarah," Terrance quickly cut her off.

(The old man is going to disappear on you...)

... _What?_

(The old man behind you...)

Who is this, why are you inside my head? Am I losing it somehow?

(No, but soon you will—for a brief instant you will lose control of your concentration at a crucial moment...And you must piece together why—or you will be stuck here.)

... _Dammit, who is this?!_

(Jeeze, Paul, do we really have to go through this again...?)

... _My...younger me?_

_(Good, Paul, that's good, you pegged it earlier this time. Now_ think—think _what happened before you had your mental glitch at the worst moment.)_

... _Dammit all, son, I don't know what you're referring to—_

(NO! Don't let this thing do it to you again! Figure out what went wrong QUICKLY!)

"...And everyone is plugged in! And you call _me_ a killer?!" Terrance ranted for the cause of First Final.

_What happened...? What_ did _happen...? This is...this is a memory trap..._ another _one—the third one!_

(Much quicker this time...because we're coming closer together, becoming a stronger center...)

_The old man_ did _leave...why?_

(Think of the councilman's speech rally...the same sort of disorientation happened at the rally—only, it didn't just happen to you, it happened to everyone there...)

... _Because we were drugged somehow...something in the air, probably..._

(...Think of how two of the vagrants were so out of it, incoherent, confused...)

... _Except for the old man...he said nothing...just breathed out heavily for some reason..._

As the hooded old man with the cragged face was doing just now, behind Paul...

"Terrance, PLEASE JUST GIVE HIM THE MEDS!" Sarah hysterically blasted.

_COVER YOUR MOUTH AND NOSE, PAUL!_ the younger voice hollered in his thoughts. _IT'S THE OLD MAN'S BREATH THAT DOES IT!_

And Paul quickly did, removing his left hand from gripping his gun to do so, but keeping his weapon trained on Terrance with his right.

Who was, with deadness in his expression, switching his spike from his son's throat to attempt to stab into Sarah's...

But Paul was not disjointed in his focus this time—and easily shot at Terrance's spike hand as it got midway between his son and his wife. It pierced a hole through one of his knuckles, and caused the spike to fall from his grasp. He screamed in abject misery and faltered forward to clasp his mutilated hand with his good one.

Keeping his left hand on his face, Paul rushed forth to brain Terrance with his gun. This knocked the bleeding man out and onto the floor.

Paul then quickly holstered his gun and instantly produced the syringe filled with Joseph's medicine.

"Hurry, _hurry!_ " Sarah barked in hysterics at Paul.

"Hold him still!" Paul ordered.

She did so, clamping the shaking, wheezing—yet still conscious—boy against her chest. "Quickly, do it!"

He jammed the needle in Joey's carotid artery, and plunged in the medicine. Within seconds the serum was flowing in the boy's system.

The room and everything in it was turning pale.

The boy was still shaking, still wheezing thin breaths. Sarah slowly rocked him in her arms. She cried as she whispered to him, "Shhhh, it's okay...it's okay...I'm here...I'm here..."

Paul could only huddle close to them, hoping that he got the medicine in Joey in time to stop a cardiac episode.

For an interminable few seconds, Joey shivered on with ragged breaths...

"Come _onnn..._ " Paul murmured to himself as he stared unblinkingly at the struggling boy.

...And then...it happened—

Joey's shaking and troubled breathing began to subside; he was at last equalizing.

Paul had made it in time—this time.

And as Paul sat back with a bit of off-balance, he blew a breath of relief and closed his eyes for a brief moment.

He heard Sarah say to him, "Thank you...thank you so much...I'm sorry...I'm so sorry..."

"Just give him a shot at a life," Paul replied, opening his eyes.

"I will, I swear it," she stressed, then cried harder.

Sarah already looked wrecked, but now she was appearing to wreck even further—along with everything around her. The scene was misaligned and paler than before. Paul expected the flash of white any second now.

But just before it did, he ventured a quick look behind him—confirming to himself what he had already suspected...

The old man had again disappeared.

Chapter 57

The stakeout crew that was charged with casing Delia's house had long since bugged out. They had seen little sense in maintaining the watch when the world was coming apart around them.

Thus no one had sought to follow Delia and Kenneth as they left the safety of their house to get into Delia's car and drive away. Kenneth had taken the wheel.

"Which way, Delia?" he asked tensely.

"Make a left at the corner," she said, trying her best to contain her dread.

_You know exactly where, don't you, dear sis,_ Kenneth accused in his mind. _God damn you for this, Delia...God damn Green Sky for poisoning your mind...and mine..._

He made the left then said, "Now what—you know what, on second thought, just tell me which location we're going to!" He stared at her.

"...It's far from here—WATCH OUT!" she shrieked.

In front of them a teen boy had staggered out into the street, jerking wild convulsions and drooling.

Kenneth screechingly swerved and barely missed the boy. He almost smashed right into a parked vehicle before righting his path on the road once more. Kenneth finally caught his breath again.

Delia looked back at the boy and said, "The Destroyers got him...They've gotten so many people..."

"Yeah, but they haven't gotten us...and they might not have gotten to Mikey...depending on where he is. Where is he?"

Delia was distracted, unfortunately, by the frights around her: the twisted up buildings and homes, the multiple fires raging throughout the most of them.

And the people on the sidewalks, some of them afflicted with the same bodywide gyrations that the street boy had, some battling each other, killing each other.

The screams were chilling for Delia to hear.

" _Delia!_ For the last time! _Where?!_ "

" _The hills! All right?!_ " she blurted, overwhelmed by it all.

" _Where_ in the hills?!"

"Just drive there, I'll show you when we get there." And she broke down into a crying mess, covering her face with her hands.

"Damn you," Kenneth said, and drove them on toward the hills twenty miles away.

Chapter 58

"Captain!"

"What is it, corporal?" Madison replied as he swung about.

"Those things are on board again!"

"Where?!"

"Working cameras show them heading for the engine room and medical!"

"Alert medical and tell them to prepare the woman to head them off!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Lieutenant?" came the corporal's voice over the comm in medical.

Larabee walked over and hit the comm switch. "Larabee here."

"We've got more of those things—and they're headed your way. Is the woman with you?"

"Yes. How many are coming to us?"

"Looks like three. The rest are heading to engineering."

"How soon till they get here?"

"They're almost on you."

"Copy." Larabee switched off and faced Marta. "You ready?"

She nodded with a bracing breath and stance. "I'm ready."

The sounds of the approaching agents came about. And Marta decided she would not even give them the chance to reach medical itself. She bounded out of the room and into the hall to face the grotesqueries as they came forth. Inhuman rattles and snarls spouted from the agents as they halted mere feet from the woman blocking their path.

Marta reopened her hand wound and cupped it upward to pool the blood.

One of the agents happened to be the long, stringy haired one with no arm or lower jaw. And from that jawless cavity, a torrent of black blood spewed forth at Marta.

She quickly pivoted to spin her top half out of the way of the dark showering.

But then another agent also released a long spray of virus fluid at Marta. She tried to dodge that too, but couldn't avoid it entirely. A splotch hit her cheek...

...and then quickly dissolved into nothingness.

With her uninjured hand, she felt that particular side of her face, noticed there was nothing there but skin, then viciously smiled with her eyes.

And flung her own blood at jawless.

It squealed in agony as her blood hit its chest, and faltered to the floor. It clutched the affected area with its one good arm and writhed in continued misery.

The other two agents saw this then trained their malignant stares on Marta again. And decided that the blood approach on her was useless.

And simply chose to rush at her to cause whatever bodily harm they could.

But before they could get at her, she plunged her fingers into her palm wound, dealt with the searing pain, and released more of her blood at the charging agents.

They halted in odd twisting when the blood hit, and howled with great force before crumpling to the floor. They lay just inches from her feet.

In anger for all that was lost, she kicked at their charred heads. Which caused them to grunt in shock and pain.

But she stopped after a good six kicks to each when she noticed that her hand was bleeding too much. She put pressure on it and backed away to then turn towards the medical bay entrance.

Then froze as something crucial occurred to her: _what if my blood can not only stop these things, but what's happening with the ship—and those already infected..._

It was a good thing she realized this might be possible.

Because the splashes of virus blood that had been intended for her were now serving to warp the structures ahead of her.

She jogged toward the disfigurements of the corridor, and saw them cease as she got near enough to be counteracted by her close proximity.

Her theory was proving to be correct...for the ship at least.

Now to test it on the people.

Chapter 59

Roddy counted.

He now had fifty-eight spheres chasing him as he was shooting around the seemingly infinite tropes of madness and despair, he wondered just how many more would try to pursue him. They were quick and hungry, but Roddy was quicker, hungrier, _more_ determined.

And in some perverse way having fun with the game. All the balls—certainly more than the typical handfuls—were in play for this ultimate round of his favorite game. And none were hitting their mark as of yet.

And the source, the "heart" of this world of unreason, was in Roddy's sights...yet still, he seemed to intuit, a good distance away. Miles probably...and if that were so, then the great ball must be massive—the sphere of spheres.

Maybe it was just a microbe at one time, perhaps at the beginning of man's existence, Roddy would later reflect. A cell that grew as man, the species grew, always recycling itself as many would die and others were born.

Grew into what it was now, a realm of mirroring and projecting anarchy.

And of all that existed here, it seemed that the heart of this world was what unnerved Roddy the most. The way he could tell, even for this distance, how it writhed and wormed in all its harsh-lighted glory.

But that was his hill, his endgame nonetheless.

And he fully intended to reach it, stand atop it—metaphorically speaking—and gloat...if that were possible.

But first he had some liberating to do.

Chapter 60

By some miraculous stroke of luck, Kenneth had successfully drove himself and Delia out of town and into the Santa Mora Hills.

"Where around here?" he coldly asked.

Her face flushed from the tears, Delia responded, "Past this hill up on the right. Behind it is a cave."

Kenneth blew a breath in disbelief and disgust, clasping a hand to his forehead and massaging it. Then he dropped the hand to the steering wheel and drove close to the right-side hill up ahead.

Chapter 61

The damned spheres had trapped just about everyone yet again.

Paul was now forced to relive his run-in with the jawless one—and not even his younger self could fathom how to get out the loop of the situation. It had already recycled itself three times by now.

Virg was now thrust headlong into the memory of his greatest event of anguished confusion: the death of his wife and child.

Avery was locked in a public debate with his opponent for city councilman, Bob Hoakim. As adept at debating and public speaking as Avery was, Bob was even more so. The event was certainly not swinging Avery's way. Of course, two months later, it was discovered that Bob was linked to insider trading—and was forced to drop out of the race to prepare for his trial. But at the time of the debate, it was apparent Avery was a long way from securing the vote for Staunton City Councilman.

Benton had been through his own memory trials; muddling through such arduous confusions as the death of his sister, the difficult and life-threatening birth of his daughter, and the revelation of Baxter's choice to leave people behind to die. It was the last one he was currently trudging through, trying to see his way clear from the guilt of what he and Baxter had set in motion.

And Martha, despite the resurgence of Roberta and their fellow sisters of former victimhood, was faced with another past experience with a lecherous male. It was the publishing mogul, Gerry Banning; and he offered both Martha and Mary a secure publishing deal when every other publishing house had said no. But the deal was dependent upon one crucial compromise: Martha had to let Gerry have his way with her.

In the real incident she had agreed to it—and Mary went on to create her book series for the whole world to enjoy. And in reliving the memory, against the phantom protests of Roberta and the girls, Martha was planning on giving in once more.

And then something quite bizarre occurred, something that threw Martha for a serious loop.

A little boy barged into the office of Gerry Banning, and caught the immediate attention of both Gerry and Martha. They both rose from their seats and faced the boy, who appeared to be Latin American.

Gerry barked, "Hey! How'd you get in here?!"

Martha merely stared at the boy with stark confusion in her eyes.

The boy ignored Gerry and looked directly at Martha. "You're Martha, Mary's sister, aren't you?"

"Why yes," Martha said in a bit of shock, "How did you know that? Who are you?"

"My name's Rodrigo, but you can call me Roddy. Your sister's in big trouble, along with a lot of others. It's time to ditch this thing and breakout so we can find the others who are here too."

"What others?"

"Kid, get out of here _now!_ " Gerry ordered in anger. "We're trying to conduct business here! This is a place of business! Where's Judy?!" He hollered at the door, "JUDY!"

"Judy's not here and neither are you," Roddy said to the flustered publisher. Then he focused on Martha again. "This is all just stuff from a past memory that something awful is making you relive."

"But how come you know this and I don't?" Martha asked.

"Because it looks like this thing can only work on one mind at a time.

"But listen, we don't have much time! We've gotta get to the others and—!"

"Kid, I am gonna give you to the count of three to _leave_ this building!" Gerry raged. " _One..._ "

But Roddy belted, "Shut up, ya big monkey fart!"

And Gerry was suddenly yanked backward by an invisible force; he smashed through his large office window and dropped out of sight.

Martha turned from witnessing this to stare shockingly at Roddy. "...How the hell did you do that?"

"Because I could think it. This is all happening in our minds. And I think if you and I join ours we can be stronger, and help the others who are stranded here like us."

"This is...this is all too much..."

"I know, it's a little intense for me too. But let's go with it and see what happens...Take my hand?"

The office was turning pale as Martha reached out for Roddy's hand.

Chapter 62

The remaining four agents still possessing the disfigured, burnt bodies had done their dirty work with the Yorktown's engine propulsion systems. The ship was now adrift, no longer forwarded by the once powerful propellers. In fact, the propellers were now deformed, twisted, inverted. Even if the engines were functional, it would do no good now. The tide now slowly pushed the ship closer to shore again.

Now the agents were on their way to medical—yet not directly to medical. They had seen the aftermath of their fallen fellow anarchists, and decided on a different approach. If they couldn't attack directly, they would spread their virus from above and below their chosen target.

It didn't take them long to put their plan into action....

"My God..." Mary uttered as she looked down at the IV's tube running into her arm. Blood from Marta's arm was flowing through the translucent tube and into Mary's system. "...it's working...I can feel it working, I'm not jittery anymore, I feel a lot better. You must have universally compatible blood."

"Okay, that should be enough," Larabee advised to Marta, "we don't want you passing out. And there're still two more patients that we have to hook you up to—"

_AAAARRRRUNNNK!_ —the metallic flooring, walls, and ceiling were warping, cratering, pushing outward.

Part of the structural disfigurement of the walling caused the fire extinguisher to fully dislodge.

And fall directly on Virg's life support machine.

The impact damaged the system too greatly for it to remain functional.

Virg's vitals were bottoming out.

"No!" Tabitha shrieked as she rushed over to his side. He was convulsing badly, the virus taking hold once more. "Do you have another machine?!" she hollered at Larabee.

"No, I'm sorry," he replied in sorrow, "our last two needed repairs!"

"Can't you fix 'em?!"

"I'm not a technician! I fix people not machines!" he defended, albeit regretfully.

She stared wide-eyed at Virgil again. "No, _no!_ " She crouched down and held onto his chest. "...Oh God, Virg, no..." Tears fell from her eyes.

The convulsions worsened, and soon his arms and legs began to dislocate, twist into horridly odd positions. Cracking bone sounds occurred in the process. Tab and the rest could only watch in horror.

The jerking and twisting had ended. And Virg's respiratory system failed.

His body was deceased.

"...I'm sorry..." Tab cried, "...I'm so sorry, Paul..." She buried her face in her hands.

But not for long, as the room was violently changing again, wrenching new forms.

Marta took the tube out of her arm and raced over to fling her blood on the walls and the floor. And as much as she could on the ceiling.

But now a new problem existed: Paul was relapsing again, shuddering from the effects of the virus.

"Marta!" Tab screamed to get her attention.

Marta didn't even wait to have Larabee hook her up, instead, she ran over to Paul's bedside and let blood fall into his eyes and mouth. "I hope this works just as well," she offered quickly.

"It will, it's gotta..." Tab hoped and prayed.

Paul was coughing a bit as the blood went down the wrong pipe to a certain extent. But soon it subsided.

Along with his tremors.

He was returning to normal.

"Thank you...so much..." Tab said with conviction to Marta.

"You're welcome..." But Marta began to lose balance a bit. She felt dizzy, lightheaded. "...I've gotta sit down..."

Larabee rushed to Marta's side and steadied her. Tab got up and aided him in making sure she didn't fall. Soon, they had her in the final empty bed and bandaged to stop the bleeding.

"Here, wait a second..." Larabee told Marta. And he rushed over to a cabinet, opened it and pulled out a pink pastry box. He brought it back over to Marta and opened up the lid. "Here, have some to get your blood sugar up. They're real almond cookies from Hong Kong."

Although Marta was feeling hazy, her eyes lit up a bit at the sight of the cookies. She took one out while saying, "You're a godsend," to Larabee, and ate the cookie in two bites. Several more cookies followed.

Chapter 63

Kenneth and Delia had rounded the hill and entered the cave where Mikey was callously hidden almost a week ago.

There were a few empty water bottles and food wrappers strewn about the entrance...but Mikey was nowhere to be found. A few of his bird books were among the ripped open wrappers.

"MIKEEEEYYYY!" Kenneth shouted into the darkened recess. A bit of an echo reverberated in the far off distance.

No reply came back.

He screamed the name even louder.

Nothing.

"Do you have a phone, Delia?" he asked.

She did but it was one of those "razor" flip phones. Apparently she wasn't up on the latest models. She took it out and gave it to Kenneth.

He flipped it open and used the LCD display as a makeshift flashlight. "Come on, we're going further in."

Delia had fright in her eyes. "But we don't know what's in there."

" _Delia, we're going. That's it,_ " he ordered with finality, and grabbed her hand to lead her further into the cave's tunnel. She began nervously humming the hardship song once more. "And stop it with that song!"

Chapter 64

Paul was now on his fourth go around reliving the memory of his fateful showdown with the jawless one. He had just cleared the road crack and was ramming his car into the freakish agent, pinning him against a building wall. The imaginary car deployed its safety bag that prevented Paul from flying through the window. It also knocked him silly, dazing him.

The jawless one was using his blackened blood to alter the car's front structure, thereby freeing itself from the wedging. The grenade was thrown and it at least downed the agent for a moment. Mr. Machete had run toward the agent to attack, but was quickly infected.

And Paul was left with nothing else to stop the deformed horror from assaulting him, infecting him.

Nothing...except a little South American boy and his new group of followers.

"Hey! Monkey Shit!" Roddy barked from far behind Paul and the agent.

Both Paul and jawless turned to witness the group of new arrivals.

And suddenly, Paul was unhanded by the agent—as it was thrust high into the air and thrown _far_ away. It disappeared behind a building structure across the street.

The group had tracked the agent's flight until it was no longer visible, then they stared at Paul once more.

Paul asked Roddy in awe, "...Kid...how the hell did you do that?"

Roddy replied, "Actually, we all did that...Martha, Mr. Benton, Mr. Chen, and I...we did that together. I wouldn't have been able to throw him that far on my own."

"Mr. Chen," Paul called to Avery, "Where did you find these people?"

"They found _me_ ," Avery said, "I was stuck in a memory loop, just like you are now. But these guys broke me out—and we're here to do the same for you."

"Come on, take our hands," Roddy said as the group reached out for Paul.

_Take their hand, Paul,_ the younger side of himself spoke up within his thoughts. _They're telling the truth..._

... _Okay...Avery's with them, so okay..._

And Paul came toward them, and took Roddy's hand. Roddy's other hand was holding onto Martha's now, and her other was holding onto Avery's, and _his_ was to Benton.

And at that point, the world around them was draining of color; eventually bursting into white...

Virg had a gun to his head. And was seriously considering pulling the trigger.

Just an hour before, he was informed that an elderly woman with an apparently revoked driver's license ran over his wife and daughter. They died before the police and paramedics came on the scene.

As he sat in his living room couch, conflicting thoughts raged inside Virg's mind: _Maybe I shouldn't kill myself first, maybe I should find that arrogant old bat and put two in her kneecaps before they cart her off to jail! But then what's the point, it's not like it doesn't happen all the time, elderly types that can't accept help when it's time to let someone help! No, it wouldn't change anything at all, I should just pull this trigger and get it over with...But then I know it's not what my wife and daughter would want me to do...I_ know _that...But to live the rest of my life without them...day after day with total misery and emptiness...They say it gets better with time...Meet someone new, have more children...But that seems wrong,_ so _wrong...Maybe the only sane thing to do is to just pull the trigger..._

_You_ must _go on, Virg,_ his wife's voice whispered in his mind, _you can't ever give up..._

Instead of inspiring Virg to trudge ahead, however, this only brought about greater despair and he broke down in squealing cries and flowing tears. He dropped the gun down to his seated lap, then quickly brought it back up to his head to point once more.

Dropped it...

Back up to his head...

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The knocks at the door startled Virg and he almost discharged a round into his cranium. He quickly rose and stared tensely at the door. "Who is it?!" he barked. He was clearly in no mood for visitors.

"It's Paul, Virg, open up, partner!" came a reply through the door.

"Go away, Paul!" he said, sniffing up his runny nose.

"Just one minute, then I'll go, I promise..."

Virg warred with himself again—now whether to let Paul in or not. They had always been there for each other—both on the job and off. But could Paul possibly help with what Virg had to face now? Virg doubted it.

He went over and opened the door anyway. "Paul," he said with no emotion.

And Paul seemed to know now exactly what memory relapse Virg was encountering. He had witnessed that same hollowed look in Virg's eyes for quite some time after his wife and daughter were killed.

"May I come in, pard?" he asked with sympathetic eyes.

Virg replied flatly, "Sure."

"Thanks," And Paul entered.

"Have a seat. You want a beer, I can get you one."

"No, that's okay, we, uh, we won't be staying long."

"Paul, listen, my world just—"

"I know, I know—but listen to me..." Paul stared intensely into Virg's wrecked eyes, "... _this, what you're going through right now...is not happening._ "

Virg's dead eyes turned to anger, " _Don't_ you tell me this isn't happening! My wife and child just _died_ an hour and a half ago—!"

" _No,_ Virg—they _didn't,_ they died _five years_ ago. Right now you're trapped inside some thing that is forcing you to relive a chaotic time in your life. That's all that's happening right now."

Virg could only see red. "Paul, you're my partner and good friend...but if you don't leave right now, I may have to use this gun in my hand..."

(No...)

Virg suddenly looked confused.

"Are you hearing a voice in your head, Virg?" Paul asked with a knowing tone.

(... _Listen to him, baby...)_

... _Beth?!_

(...Listen to him...)

"Whose voice are you hearing, Virg? Is it Beth's?" Paul said gingerly.

Virg uttered, "Yes...it is...I've had a break, haven't I...I've lost it..."

(Far from it, sweetheart...)

"No, Virg, that's not it at all! Look at me, pard..." Paul grabbed Virg by the upper arms and faced him head on. "I'm _telling_ you the truth—"

Suddenly, the front door swung wide open to reveal Roddy and the others.

In his shaken condition, Virg snap-aimed his gun at the newcomers.

"Whoa, _whoa_ ," Paul blurted as he forced Virg's aim away from the group. "Easy, they're with me."

"Sorry, Paul," Roddy offered with somewhat penitent eyes, "But we've gotta break out now, there're so many others that we've gotta get to..."

"Wait a minute..." Virg began as he stared at Avery and Benton. "...Don't I know you two?"

"Yes," Paul answered, "you do know them. Benton was one of the doctors responsible for getting us here—in this _other_ reality, Virg..."

"...And the other was someone we were...protecting—"

"That's right, you're right..."

Virg seemed to be on the cusp of a mental breakthrough, but Roddy was impatient and couldn't wait any longer. He reached out for Virg. "Just take our hands, Virg—and it will all become clear."

Chapter 65

"For the last time," Kenneth growled, "stop humming that song!"

"I can't help it," Delia blasted back, "I'm scared!"

They were nearly two hundred feet into the cave. The top part of the tunnel was low-lying, and both Kenneth and Delia had to hunch over to travel through. They had called out several times to Mikey during the trek. Still no reply came back.

"Why in God's name did you do this, Delia?" Kenneth asked in disgust.

"Because I'm sick and evil, is that what you want to hear?!" Delia barked in anger, and disdain for herself.

"But, for _God sakes,_ Delia, you _knew_ he couldn't survive on his own, out here with no food or proper shelter—!"

"I COULDN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!" she exploded, shuddering her tense body. Both of them stopped in their tracks and stared down each other. "Living with this _robot_ of a son _day after day_! Who barely speaks and never looks at me! He was like a soulless demon sent to torment me because I left my family!"

" _Delia,_ that's not true—!"

"And _then_ —when he _does_ speak, it's nothing but endless, _endless_ facts about birds! Everything you could possibly want to know about _birds_!!!"

"Delia, _stop_ —!"

"You wanna talk about abandonment?! Where were you, Kenneth?! You abandoned him first! And you left me alone to deal with our son—our _freakish, soulless son!_ "

Kenneth slapped her hard, and she faltered to the cold ground. She stayed there in a wavering crawl position, blubbering in anguish. "...You left us..." she uttered.

Kenneth could only stand there, bent over slightly, and breathing hard. "...Green Sky still had your mind...didn't they?"

"...I tried..." Her eyes cinched shut in a fresh wave of torment. "...I tried so hard to get away from them...in my head, I tried...I'm sorry...I'm sorry..." Finally she crumpled fully to the shadowed ground and bawled full tilt.

"Delia...just...stay here. I'm going further in. Stay here and wait for us."

She nodded rapidly. "...I hope you find him...Maybe we can have some time as a family...before they come for us..."

Kenneth stared sorrowfully at his broken sister for a brief moment longer, then turned to head onward through the tunnel. As he did, he glanced at the LCD display for the phone—and noticed that the battery icon was on its last bar.

Chapter 66

Marta had eaten all total eight cookies, and felt much better in her equilibrium. But she still felt off in her mind of the scene about her. At the horrendous disfigurement of the room and the various items of equipment strewn throughout.

And Virg. That was the most disquieting sight of all. She wished there was some way that it would be acceptable to remove the body from the room. But she knew the others in the room might greatly protest that suggestion. So she kept silent about it.

Besides, her greatest concern was the agents who were still out there, still aboard the ship. What was their next move of attack?

And would Marta be in any shape to do anything about it?

She just hoped that Roddy and the others over there in that other place were accomplishing what they were sent to do...and quickly....

Chapter 67

As a joined entity of many neural energies—Roddy's, Paul's, Virg's, and so on—they couldn't be matched for speed of travel.

The spheres wanted them and, of course, gave a furious chase. But they soon became confused themselves as to which neural core to attack, and were faltering in their directionals, smashing into one another, and swerving erratically.

And the group entity continued to tear others away from their own individual sphere imprisonment. Each time it became easier to break them out, and convince them to become apart of the group unity.

"United we stand, divided we fall" had never rung so true in their minds as it did now, when all was at stake to save what was left of their world, their families, their home.

It was easy to find the spheres that had enveloped others—their neural spark always seemed to shine brighter within than their luminescent traps. And it marked a good sign of the strength of those minds—whoever they were—that they could still be seen through the blinding enclosement.

In the next half hour, Roddy and the rest would liberate thirty-eight more bodiless minds.

And in the next ten minutes after that, they would have them all.

Chapter 68

The world was simply coming apart. In every corner of it that was any sort of threat to the world of chaos, agents were wreaking havoc. And it mattered not whether the targets were good or evil, sick or healthy, big or small. The agents had their directive from the main presence of their realm—destroy any possible threat.

And they were receiving quite potent energies from the origin cell in all its great. It was what gave the agents such continued and impossible strength against their enemy.

But the main cell was now extremely unnerved. It was aware, as the agents were, that there were those simply too strong in clarity and focus on their _own_ cellular level to be tainted, infected, dismantled.

And at least twenty of them were on their way to the origin, banded together and determined to bring harm to it.

Some of the agents' energies had been brought back to reinforce the cell, merge with its power in greater strength.

It hoped it would be enough against the onslaught.

Chapter 69

Kenneth had ventured into the cave at a distance now of two hundred and eighty feet. He continued to call out for Mikey, and continued to get no response.

He was beginning to suspect that it might be pointless to go on searching the cave. That it was entirely possible his son had wandered off out of the cave and into another part of the hills. That was, of course, Kenneth's next search pattern should this one not pan out. But he had to be sure.

He checked the phone again, still one bar, still kickin', thank goodness. But at this point he decided it was necessary to shut off the phone and conserve that little bit of juice left.

Now he would just have to be careful and feel his way around...for as far in as this tunnel went...

He stepped on something, something that was rounded yet cratered in sections. And it was, well, squishy...

Kenneth powered up the phone again and flashed the panel light on the ground. It revealed the gouged corpse of an animal. Kenneth examined it further and determined that it was a raccoon.

_Could have been another animal that did this,_ Kenneth rationalized.

Or it could have been Mikey, desperate and hungry enough to kill and bite into anything that came near.

He noticed that there wasn't much blood pooled about the carcass, which clued Kenneth into determining that it _was_ most likely Mikey. Because not only would the boy be hungry, but extremely thirsty as well.

Yet there was only one way to know for sure—keep heading inward...in pitch dark.

He powered down the phone again and trudged on, feeling his way through.

Chapter 70

They were all now as one entity floating in the ether of the chaos plane. Roddy and all those who agreed to be sent here were of a single, unified strength of mind, now seemingly impenetrable.

Numerous sub-spheres repeatedly attempted to pierce the collective force, but they were continually denied entrance through the barrier of powerful luminance.

The joined ones had their destination in sight: the heart, the massive and frenzied sphere. And, although it was still sizably larger than the mind collective, it mattered not. The union was focused and strong. And fully determined to eliminate its target at any cost.

Ignoring the attacking smaller spheres, the collective rocketed forth in a blurring streak at the heart. And in seconds speared the larger sphere's bright, writhing skin.

Chapter 71

Twenty more agents were now in the water, having either heard the radio message or were sent by the source in its desperation to end the impending threat.

A few more pumping thrusts of their rotting limbs and they would be at the side hull of the ailing Yorktown.

And, oh, the fun they had in mind...

"Sir, radar picks up twenty new threats coming up fast!" the corporal announced to Madison aboard the bridge. Somehow that area of the ship still had radar capability. Thus far, anyway.

Madison replied, "How soon?"

"Coming up on us... _now,_ sir!"

"Gotta keep those things away from medical—even at the cost of ourselves. Take every remaining healthy soul and meet me at the outer deck." Madison began moving to the exit.

His bridge crew followed, and after the corporal made the announcement, he trailed after them.

And in three minutes they had all amassed at the outer deck, just as the various agents were climbing up over the edge. They were beginning to rise to their feet when Madison hollered, "DRIVE THEM BACK INTO THE WATERRRR!"

And the last of the Yorktown crew—save for Larabee still in medical—rushed forth at the various agents. With forty-eight men and women left to come at the corpse-like figures, Madison hoped it would be enough to drive their enemy back overboard. Or at least as many as they could. He knew, of course, there were still four attackers already onboard—he just prayed Marta would be able to handle them without losing consciousness. Or worse.

The twenty agents met the running siege with twenty showers of black blood. But the sprinting soldiers ignored the sprays upon their bodies and tackled the agents two or three crewmembers at a time.

Fortunately for Madison's plan of delay, the onslaught proved effective enough to unbalance every agent—and send both crew and agents into the water below.

Madison and his soldiers harbored no illusions in the end that they would win against these abominations, that they had only bought minutes for the people in medical.

But perhaps those minutes would be enough to turn the tide—even if it possibly came at the very last second. For Madison and his crew it was worth a shot, worth their lives.

Chapter 72

Kenneth continued to feel his way through the dark tunnel. He had come across another dead raccoon a few feet back, which made him think that Mikey had likely traveled further in each time he got hungry or thirsty.

But Kenneth now frowned and cursed as he felt something that caused him great dismay. The tunnel had just split into two pathways. And then another disturbing thought occurred to him: how many times would the paths fork into different directions? It could be a number of times, and then what?

But then something faint sounded in the blackness that gave him a rush of hope.

A weak and sorrowful whimper.

"Mikey?!" Kenneth spoke up.

Nothing came back.

"MIKEY?!"

Now a tormented moan returned. It sounded like it came from the right-side direction of the split. Kenneth powered up the phone and rushed down that path. And within seconds he came upon his son.

The boy was lying on the ground in a fetal position, looking haggard and dirty. He didn't look up at Kenneth, merely stared blankly and continued to moan.

Kenneth knealed down and tried to face Michael head on. "Mikey, it's Uncle Kenneth, do you remember me?" He waited for a reply but got more tortured groans. "Mikey? Mikey, talk to me, _please_..."

The boy had dried blood around his lips and chin, but Kenneth guessed that it was the raccoon's.

At least he desperately hoped that's all it was.

The phone's power died, and Mikey's face disappeared from Kenneth's view. He tossed the thing to the ground and grabbed Mikey to lift him up. The boy did not struggle against the rising, and it was clear to Kenneth that his son was too weak to put up a fight. Once he had the right arm-wrap around Mikey, he proceeded to carry/drag the ailing boy back the way he came in. As he did, he said to Mikey, "Don't worry, Michael, we're gonna get you some food, okay? Something a lot better than raccoons, does that sound good?"

But the only response Kenneth received was the sound of Mikey's dry heaving. "Hang in there, boy, I'm gonna get you out very soon."

Chapter 73

The group mind had found itself inhabiting imaginary representations of their physical forms once more. But they weren't separated into their own realities this time. They were all together, in a tight formation. And they intended to stay that way, as one united front of collected strength.

But what was around them looked desolate and dehumanizing. And soul crushing to one mind of the group.

Gertrude Jenkins was the oldest of the collective at 78. And as she got a good look around she began to recognize the scene for what it really was. "...My God, no... _no_ , this is Dachau!"

And indeed it was, a perfect recreation of the infamous and dreaded Nazi concentration camp, complete with armed guards, attack dogs, and several emaciated prisoners assembled in the clearing. Barbwire topped the entire wooden fencing surrounding the camp.

" _No,_ it isn't," Roddy stressed to Gertrude.

"He's right, Ms. Jenkins," Paul agreed, "Don't be fooled by this thing—"

"But there's my uncle! He is in the formation! _Sidney!_ "

From the lined formation across the way, a haggard skeletal face turned to gaze sorrowfully at Gertrude. It was her Uncle Sidney Goldblatt as she remembered him, when she was but four-years-old.

"Uncle!" she hollered as she rushed to reach him, but the others within the group restrained her, stopped her in her tracks. "No! Let me go!"

"Stop it, Gertrude," Paul barked in warning, "This thing is trying to trick you, to make you leave the strength of the group! Don't let it!"

As Gertrude was being restrained, she happened to notice a smaller figure within the formation of the prisoners.

Herself. As she was at age four.

The younger version also turned her pallid head to stare at the older Gertrude. Hopelessness was in the little girl's eyes.

"It's me...I'm there too..." Gertrude revealed.

Her younger self looked down then turned back around to face forward.

" _No,_ please don't say this is the day..." older Gertrude uttered.

"What day, Ms. Jenkens? Tell us," Virg said.

"... _please_..." she begged, staring at her uncle.

Suddenly, Sidney collapsed to the ground...

"It _is_..." she continued.

Guards were rushing to the fallen man, ready to beat and kick him for faltering.

But they were stopped in their tracks by the blaring bullhorn signaling a repeated alarm sound.

And suddenly all eyes went to the skies.

Through the alarm, Gertrude explained in a haze of dread, "This is the day of the air raid by British and American forces. I know this because it was the same day that my uncle collapsed from heart failure..."

The sound of approaching bomber planes now filled the air, becoming louder with each instant.

"...They were meant to bomb a munitions plant, but someone gave them the wrong coordinates, I later found out..."

The guards were scrambling to evacuate the open areas of the camp. The prisoners followed suit—all except young Gertrude and a friend of Sidney's who rushed to the fallen man's sides. They did their best to try and carry/drag the limp Sidney away from the field. It was arduous and they only got about ten feet before the first bomb shell hit. The blast wave knocked little Gertrude and her helper to the ground.

They got back up but with ringing ears—that drowned out the sound of the second hit, which fumbled them back down.

The man grabbed little Gertrude and made a run for shelter. She screamed and threw her hands out at Sidney's direction, not wanting to leave her uncle exposed to more blasts.

Older Gertrude shrieked, "SIDNEY!" and fought harder against the restraining arms. But she still couldn't move.

"It's _not real!_ " Martha shouted to Gertrude over the next explosion.

" _No_ , my dear uncle, no..." Gertrude sobbed as she looked downward, no longer fighting the hands and arms on her.

The first few blasts had happened somewhat away from the group collective. But now they seemed to drop all around them, jarring and scaring everyone. Many of their "flight" instincts began to emerge. They wanted to run, badly.

"Everyone stay where you are!" Roddy hollered as loud as he could. "It's trying to split us up! Don't let it!"

"He's right!" Avery yelled to all, "We must form up even closer! Everyone grab everyone and huddle as tightly as possible!"

"Come on, come on, let's go!" Paul encouraged, motioning people to get in closer, to pack like sardines in a can. Virg mirrored the action with the opposite side.

Soon they were formed together without any sizable gap between them; all were grasping one another.

The bombs continued to drop around them, but now in greater frequency and blast impact.

And although no one seemed to be getting hurt—as they normally should this close to explosions—the sounds were deafening, and quite unnerving. Several of the group screamed out in shock.

Blast after blast kept coming, creating a dotting circle around the group; a circle of fire, black smoke, and fast expanding bits of shrapnel.

"Keep togetherrrr!" Avery ordered.

"I can't take it!" Gertrude argued loudly.

"Don't let her go!" Paul shouted to the people around her.

The bombing increased even more, both in frequency and sound.

"Oh my Gooood!!!" Gertrude howled.

"Keep it together, Gertrude!" Martha barked, " _Stay strong!_ "

The pale sky was being blotted out by black smoke. It wasn't long before it engulfed the air around the close-knit group. The bombs were nonstop, it was maddening.

Through her hysteria, Gertrude tried, "...It's...it's not re...it's not real..." Her voice was shaky. "...It's not real, it's not real, it's not real..." She attempted to put more certainty into her tone, to combat her fear, "...It's not _real_..." And faster now, "It's not real, it's not real, it's not REALLL!"

And suddenly, the deafening sounds of the bombings ceased, save for the trailing echo of the last blast.

The group was now surrounding by pitch black....

Chapter 74

In the water surrounding the Yorktown, Madison and his crew had gave their all to hinder the progress of the chaos possessed entities. But it didn't take long before the virus had its way with their systems, and they faltered to their drowning deaths.

The agents now were scaling back up the hull of the ship, though a few stayed underwater. Their goal was to taint the underbelly of the vessel, cause enough structural havoc to breach and flood the ship.

Meanwhile, the others climbed aboard the deck once more and scattered to different parts of the ship. Yet ten of them had a specific agenda: seek the ones in medical, and kill them; prevent anyone else from coming through to their home world.

Especially the woman known as Marta.

"I can't get a hold of anyone," Larabee announced to the room. "Either comm is down or...or there's no one left up top."

Marta thought hard about what was next. And what she knew she would likely have to do to keep everyone safe. "Dr. Baxter..." she began, "I want you to send me through."

Everyone still awake turned to stare at Marta with surprise in their eyes.

Baxter stuttered, "But...you heard Larabee, we don't have another working—"

"Life support machine, I know. But I have a strong feeling that a lot more of those things are coming. Conscious, I won't be able to stop them all. But if my mind leaves my body, then you can use all of my blood to stop them."

"No!" Celia yelled and rushed to Marta to face her. Quickly, she said, "Roddy will do it, he'll beat those—"

"But maybe not in time to save everyone in here." Marta knelt down to Celia's eye level. "I meant what I said, baby...I would use every last drop of my blood to see you safe. You mean that much to me now."

They came together fast and hugged each other tightly for a moment. Celia began to cry. "Please don't do it..."

"I have to, baby, it's my job to protect you. It's how we came together in the first place. How could I stop now." She looked up at Baxter. "Come on—before it's too late." And she broke gently from Celia's grasp. The girl put her hands over her face to brace her emotions.

Marta lay down on the last free bed once more while Baxter walked over with the serum-filled teardropper. The doctor stood over Marta and placed the drops in her eye.

When she was done, Baxter stared lamentfully at the other woman's eyes. "It should be me going, we're responsible for all this, Benton and I."

Marta responded, "Perhaps someday you will have to answer for what has happened...but at least you did what you could to stop it."

Baxter's eyes wrinkled shut as tears fell from them.

Celia came up to the bedside and held Marta's hand, as the latter became drowsy from the serum's effects. "Thank you for saving me from that man...I never said it before now. I should have."

"You're welcome...baby...it was...my...pleasure..."

In the next instant, Marta fell fast asleep.

Soon she was in another world...

And gone to this one.

Chapter 75

At first, Mikey was offering up a bit of limp walking to aid Kenneth in his efforts. But now he was just too weak, and his legs simply dragged as his father carried him on.

"Come on, boy, stay with it, not too far now...up ahead your mother is waiting for us."

Mikey whined greatly upon hearing this.

Kenneth went on, "I know...she did a terrible thing. But she's very sorry for it, I promise you. And she wants to make up for what she's done."

It was killing Kenneth's back muscles to have to both hunch low and carry Mikey's weight. But he wasn't going to stop until he got his son to the car. Maybe there were some unpacked groceries in the trunk.

Either that or Kenneth and Delia had some serious searching to do. Going back into town didn't seem like a fun idea, with everything going to hell like it was.

But he would have to cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now it was simply crucial to get everyone out of the cave.

Chapter 76

The smoke was thinning, clearing away. And now the collective could see sky again—but it was night and the stars were out in force.

Eventually, the smoke disappeared entirely, revealing that they were not in Dachau any longer.

But in a jungle clearing.

A familiar one to a man in the collective; a man by the name of George Talmage, who was 62 and a veteran of the Vietnam conflict.

"...Ah hell, you treacherous son of a bitch..." George mumbled as he recognized what was before him.

"What is it, Mr. Talmage?" Paul asked, "Where are we?"

"...If I recall correctly, four clicks outside of Do Trang in Laos...We're in enemy territory, folks, I'm sad to say."

Twigs snapped behind George and the group as approaching footsteps sounded. Everyone turned to witness a patrol of American army soldiers coming forth thirty feet away. They were walking in two lines with one man on point. That man happened to be 20-year-old George Talmage.

"There I am, folks," older George said, "leading the pack. It was my turn to take point."

The soldiers were looking about, weary of the enemy. But then some of them began to eye older George.

"We're about to be ambushed. Two patrols of the Cong are going to converge from our rear, and catch us by surprise. Most of us are going to die...in a pretty brutal way."

"It's going to make us watch, isn't it?" Roddy added.

"I suspect so."

"How did you make it out?" Virg asked.

"...I ran...God have mercy on my miserable soul, I ran and left them all behind."

The patrol was coming quite close to the group, and as they did, _all_ of the soldiers now looked expressly and gravely at George. Their gazes seemed to say to him, _you abandoned your brothers in arms, you should have stayed and fought; you should have died with us._

George averted his stare downward, the shame overwhelming him. "...I should be dead—"

He was cut off as thundering enemy fire tore through the quiet—and into the rear guard of the patrol. Four men fell.

The rest of the patrol whipped about to return fire. But they were swiftly mowed down by the superior numbers of Viet Cong.

As his older self had described, young George ran away—he hadn't even got off a shot.

Older George instinctively wanted to bolt himself. But not to run away—to pick up a fallen weapon, and fire back. Even if it meant leaving the strength of the group. His body pitched forth a bit, but Avery was near him.

And said, "Mr. Talmage—George, this has already happened. You realize that, right?"

"I do..." George admitted with sullen eyes. "...But all the same, something tells me I would be making things clearer by going over there and trying to kill as many Cong as I could—"

"For _you_ , yes...but for the rest of us, it'll make us weaker, _less focused._ "

"...I've lived with this for so long..." George couldn't take his eyes off the carnage as it unfolded.

"Mr. Talmage," Paul started, "you left them, it's true—but if you leave us, then you'll have—"

Suddenly, the firing ceased from the brush...and then different sounds came from the jungle's shadows...

The Cong patrols were emerging to examine their bloody handwork.

Most of the American soldiers were now sprawled out on the ground. The majority of them had expired by now.

But a few of them still drew breath despite their hideous injuries. They stared up with fear as the Cong patrols approached and surrounded them. They stood over their enemy and began screaming while kicking them. The wounded ones hollered in misery.

Several in the collective gasped in horror.

"Why is it showing us this?" Roddy asked George, "You had already left."

"Because this is what I had imagined in my mind," George revealed. "Either that or this thing knows everything about everything...This has haunted me all my days since..." He broke down and wept, lowering his head.

Now the Cong had moved on from kicking and screaming to harsh threats spoken in Vietnamese. And aims of their rifle bayonets at the downed soldiers' bellies and legs.

"...Don't...just don't..." George sobbed in growing distress.

"Stay strong," Martha offered to George, "not only for yourself but for us—"

"They're changing!" someone from the collective blurted. And everyone turned their attention to the patrols once more.

And indeed it was true, the wounded ones were altering their appearance—not in clothing, but in physicality—into different people.

And Martha, who was certain about herself only a second ago, now swallowed hard in terror.

Two injured soldiers had turned into her sisters.

"Oh God..." she almost whispered. She looked away...

...but then found herself facing it yet again as the gruesome scene rotated into view about her.

"NO!" another woman in the collective shrieked as she witnessed one of the downed soldiers morph into her 14-year-old anemic daughter. The woman tried to break from the group to rush toward the patrols. But those around her caught her and held her in place. She struggled against them with all her might. "LET...ME...GO!"

"Everyone!" Roddy hollered, "Listen to me! You're letting this thing poison you! It's using you against you!"

One of the wounded soldiers turned into Roddy's mother. Another into Celia. A third one into Marta...

"He's right!" Paul said as he looked about the group. "This monster is playing on our deepest guilts! We have to make peace with them, with ourselves!" He gazed intently at George, even as he had disturbingly noticed that a wounded soldier had changed into Tab. "George, you did what any frightened kid would have done. What could you have accomplished by staying and fighting?"

"That's right, George!" Martha agreed, ignoring her sisters despite the effect it had on her. "You'd have died, and we wouldn't be as strong as we are now!"

George thought it through, then said, "But I'm hurting all of you by being here too. _Look_ at what's happening...and what's about to happen..."

And suddenly, the bayonets were thrusted straight down into the army uniformed loved ones of the group collective.

"Withstand it!" Avery barked harshly, "We must be resolute and unified! _We_ are helping this thing by giving it parts of ourselves!"

"But how do we stop it from stealing from our minds?" someone asked.

"By doing just what Gertrude did—by _saying_ and _believing_ , no matter how disturbing the images, that it's _not real_."

" _And_ by ridding ourselves of our guilt..." Virg said as he stared tensely at his wife and daughter, already dead among the wounded. "Right now, I'm looking at my family—at my greatest guilt, even though I had nothing to do with their deaths. I always had a strong desire to protect them, to see them safe and happy. I thought...maybe if I had just taken the day off to go to the park with them—instead of working overtime on a case—maybe they'd still be alive...even at the cost of my own life.

"But that's irrational guilt—the kind of thing this...entity or god of this world thrives on and uses against us. It's clever, but we have to be cleverer...It's not real—the guilt we feel is imaginary...It's not real..." Virg motioned for everyone to join him in the chant.

And soon, they did, the entire congregation of focusing minds continually repeated the thundering mantra, _it's not real, the guilt is not real..._

But now the Cong patrols ceased their stabbing and rushed to spread out and encircle the collective completely. They stood equidistantly about fifteen feet away from the group. The collective chanted on, but they also turned to keep eyes on the patrols as they spread to new positions.

One of the Cong yelled something in Vietnamese—and the patrols loudly opened fire on the collective. This made many in the group flinch instinctively—but they kept the chant going. No one was being injured despite how real the experience seemed.

The chant went on, now even louder, more powerful...

A Cong soldier pulled the pin on a grenade and lobbed it into the middle of the collective. Instinctively, again, its members tensed as the "flight" response took effect. But they held fast, and held onto each other. Their chanting raged on.

The grenade went off, instantly blossoming a blinding flash of fire. But no one was harmed. Many had flinched and wrinkled their eyes shut, but that was the worst of it.

"...It's _not real,_ it's _not real..._ "

Then, with bayonets ready and pointed at the group, the Cong soldiers howled rageful battle cries and charged forth, inward.

The eyes of the outlying group members went tense and wide. But their jaws were still set as they screamed at their attackers, "YOU'RE NOT REAL!"

The Viet Cong kept coming, yelling, ready for the stab....

Chapter 77

Celia couldn't stop crying. Marta's bodily death—and what was being done to that body now—made her feel as if she was losing her mother all over again. She refused to watch as Larabee and Tabitha were draining every ounce of blood from Marta's corpse and storing it in transparent medical waste bags.

But Celia wasn't alone in not wanting to witness the cold procedure. The Chens were huddled around Avery, facing away from the gruesome task.

Baxter was standing next to Benton's bedridden body, her back to Larabee and Tab. She stared at his face while giving his upper arm a squeeze—a small gesture of support. She hoped the guilt over what they had set in motion wasn't derailing the mission of saving what was left of the world.

Mary was feeling quite a bit better physically, yet she, too, felt sickened by the inhuman yet necessary job of draining Marta's blood. She chose to focus on looking at her sister's sleeping face. She laid with her now and held her as close as she could without interfering with the life support.

No one looked too happy at the moment.

In the next, odd and frightening sounds filled the halls near the entrance.

There were three sizable bags of Marta's blood. Larabee and Tab each grabbed one to prepare for use. Larabee turned to the others and said, "Someone will need to handle the third..."

Jinn and Mary looked at each other nervously, hesitantly.

"I'll do it," Celia announced without enthusiasm. She started to approach Larabee and Tab.

But then Mary also came forth and said, "No...I'll do it. Marta's blood is in me now...and I owe it her, especially to keep you safe, little one...And I can tell this is gonna be harder on you than it is for me."

Celia looked away from Mary with troubled eyes. Eventually the girl nodded. "All right."

The sounds of footsteps and shrills of white noise grew closer, just beyond the hatchway.

Chapter 78

Delia still held her curled-up and lying position on the darkened ground. Her sobs wouldn't abate as her mind whirlwinded in confusion and guilt.

Yet through the sounds of her crying she managed to distinguish footsteps...and sounds of anguished moaning.

She quickly lifted up her head and rose to a seated position. "Kenneth?"

"Delia..." Kenneth grunted, "...help me with Mikey!"

She couldn't see them as of yet. In point of fact, she couldn't see anything, not even her own hands in front of her, it was that dark.

But she knew from the sounds which way was which. She lifted herself to a huddled stance and proceeded toward the shuffling noises. Soon, she felt the barrier of two bodies: Kenneth and Mikey.

"Help me with him," Kenneth repeated as he was breathing heavy.

"Okay, okay," she hesitantly agreed and moved to Mikey's other side to support his travel.

Mikey whined and moaned with revulsion as a consequence.

"He hates me, doesn't he?" she said with self loathing.

"Can you blame him?" Kenneth countered. "Look, let's just get out of this, then we'll...Let's just get out of this."

And they trudged onward.

Chapter 79

Blackness and the void of reason surrounded the collective minds. And all of them wondered what was coming next.

In the next instant they found out.

The dark dissipated into the bright morning New York sky. And materialized a busied cityscape to surround the collective. Buildings towered over them, and droves of human traffic interweaved around them. Then there was the vehicle traffic which was at its typical New York City standstill.

The collective looked up, and marveled at the sight of two buildings raised higher than most, leveling at the same height as each other.

They were The Towers. The World Trade Center Towers.

"Oh crap..." a woman in the collective named Bonnie Cabanero uttered with dread.

Benton, who was right next to the 28-year-old Bonnie, asked, "This is the day, isn't it?"

"...I think so..." Bonnie replied absently as she averted her upward stare to find a clock somewhere. She found one—a digital clock in the front of a bank that read 8:44 AM. "...If it is...then my mother and my little infant sister are about to die inside the North Tower." Her face twitched with fright.

" _Again_ , remember that none of this is happening—"

"I know...I know..." But her internal fear kept rising. Soon she began to eye the people of the group with unease. "My mother was a Wall Street shark, and never really had time for her kids...But my little sister..."

"Bonnie..." Avery said in warning.

"...My little sister was the sweetest soul...Never gave the nursery people inside the Tower's daycare center any fuss..."

"Bonnie..." Benton echoed Avery, but with more reprimand in his tone.

But then the first airliner roared across the skyline with a direct course for the North Tower. It speared the sun reflective structure and exploded on impact. Blackish-grey smoke rose generously from the vertical crater.

The city's sidewalkers were staring up in shock and horror. Women were screaming with hands strapped to their mouths. Many of them had tears in their eyes.

And in all of this, none had even conceived that it was a new terrorist plot against the United States, and none voiced it.

Of course, the collective knew differently. And knew that everyone else around them would realize the truth within the next fifteen minutes—when the South Tower was attacked.

"We have about sixty-five minutes before South Tower is going to come down completely..." Bonnie recapped in a bit of a haze. "...And this area will become a poisonous dust cloud. Thousands will die...including Janey, my little angel of a sister—"

" _Stop_ , Bonnie," Martha barked, " _Listen_ to what we're telling you. This thing is up to its tricks again, trying to weaken and confuse us!"

"Well then it's very good at its job..." Bonnie's face crumpled into tears and sobbing. "...I just miss her so much...I'd give anything to have her back..."

Benton calmly, soothingly asked her, "Would you give up what's left of the world...to save her here, in this false reality created by a corrupt being?"

"...I...I want to say no...It just hurts so bad..."

Chapter 80

The origin cell was doing what it could to break down the strength of the collective. But it was also redirecting certain agents' energies from across the globe to reinforce those attacking crucial targets.

Like the Yorktown—and the woman therein. The agents now infesting the ship were enhanced three-fold in an attempt to effectively withstand—and overpower—the woman holed up in a particular part of the vessel.

It knew the woman's mind force had punctured its own world by now, transcending her body so that she could pose a greater threat.

But the woman's body could still spell terrible danger if not destroyed in time.

Sinking the boat would surely help, and that was being accomplished already. But that would take time, time that the origin might not have if the woman's mind breached the cell's barrier—and did its damage. Both body and mind had to be destroyed.

Coming from either end of the corridors leading to the medical bay—so as to ensure that no one could escape—the agents were now at its entrance. And it was time to see what could be done to eliminate _all_ who were inside—especially the boy and the woman.

The war must be won, and the primary cell must survive.

Chapter 81

The light at the end of the tunnel was coming for Kenneth and his family. But it was dimming as dusk was approaching.

Kenneth's shoulder and neck muscles were on fire with carrying strain. But they only had a few more feet to go until they reached the outside.

"Delia, do you remember if you have any food in the car?" Kenneth asked.

"Not that I can think of," she replied apologetically as she continued to assist in carrying their son.

"We'll have to check anyway."

"Don't make us go back into the city," she pleaded with fear.

"We'll go where we have to go to feed Mikey!" he barked at her.

Mikey whined again, and neither parent could tell if it was from hunger or Kenneth's tone. Perhaps it was both.

At last they emerged into open air, and felt a breeze chill their sweated brows. They rounded the smaller hill and made it to the car. Kenneth opened up the backseat door and lay Mikey down. He then went to check the trunk for food while telling Delia to check under the seats for anything. Anything that Mikey could put in his belly to satiate his misery.

Kenneth searched furiously, extensively—but could find nothing in the trunk that remotely qualified as an edible. "Dammit!" he ground out in supreme frustration. Then said to Delia, "Anything?"

"Nothing so far," she gave back while she was still feeling around under the front seats. She kept sniffing up her runny nose from the crying. Her search was soon complete and came up dry, but she then decided to check the wedging in between the seats and the center panel.

And eureka...somewhat.

She pulled out a ripped open package of granola bars—the type with two thin and hardened bars.

Yet there was only one half-eaten bar left.

Kenneth came around to the driver's side to stare at Delia as she held up the granola half bar. "This is it," she said to him.

"Better than nothing," he replied with agitation still in his voice. "All right, sit him up back there and get him to eat it."

She hesitated and suggested, "Maybe you should be the one—"

"Get back there and feed your son!"

And Delia's face grimaced hard as tears fell again.

Kenneth blew a breath in exasperation and closed his eyes for a brief moment. Then he said with restraint, "Look, just...gimme it." He reached in for the food and she gave it to him. He then went around to the passenger side and opened up the back door. He sat Mikey up and then sat beside him. "Here, Mikey, come on, eat..."

Mikey's face was slack, listless. He repeated little snips of moaning. Kenneth put the bar up to his lips, trying to coax him into taking a bite. At first, Mikey was non-responsive, but after a few seconds he finally bit into the stale bar. After, crunching sounds came from his mouth.

"That's it, there you go, eat it all..." Kenneth encouraged.

And soon, Mikey did. But it was a small comfort to his stomach, and his weakness. "More," the boy moaned.

Chapter 82

The freakish and corpse-odorous agents swarmed into the medical bay and sized up their opponents.

Tab, Larabee, and Mary immediately doused as many as they could with splashes of Marta's blood.

The agents' reaction was violent, and their anguish noisily apparent. But they weren't dying straight away.

More agents poured into the room and attempted to spray torrents of black blood at the bag holders.

But all three defenders were immune now. Mary had been transfused, of course, but Larabee and Tab had taken reluctant swigs of Marta's blood from the bags.

Still, though, they attempted to sidestep the black showers coming at them. The three didn't want to feel that filth on them if they could help it.

Jinn had her children and Celia huddled close to her as they took refuge in a far corner, away from the onslaught.

But a few agents noticed them in the background, and shot a high arching torrent of black blood in their direction.

Jinn raptly yanked herself and the children out of the path of the tainted spouting. It splashed the corner walling instead, causing it to warp and cinch.

Tab saw this and doused those agents with Marta's blood. They squealed and writhed in agony. But other agents tried again with the mother and kids. Larabee lobbed some blood on them while they were in mid-showering. Thankfully, Jinn and the children dodged the new spouts.

As this was taking place, long wrenching sounds of iron punctuated the dire situation.

Soon, rushing water could be heard racing through the corridors. The ship was flooding, sinking.

Several more agents funneled into the room....

Chapter 83

Bonnie was kicking and screaming. And hitting anyone who came near her.

And many in the collective were wondering exactly _why_ Benton or Baxter or whoever had picked Bonnie for this endeavor.

"You can't keep me here! If I want to go, I should be able to go!" Bonnie raged at all about her.

"You're irrational guilt is consuming you!" Martha scolded the young woman. "You're trying to save someone who can't be saved and has already passed on!"

"What if this _is_ the 'passed on'!" Bonnie countered, "What if she's been stuck here all this time, and I can finally save her!"

"I'm certain that's in no way true, Bonnie," Martha assured.

"You don't know!" She looked around her, "None of you do! And where have we gotten with this thing we're inside?! We keep going from one tragedy to the next, and it solves nothing! We're just spinning our wheels here!"

" _Or_ , Bonnie," Roddy said, "each thing we make it through with the group—the _whole_ group—makes this thing weaker...Maybe _this_ right here will be the final step into destroying this world...and allows us to go home—"

"Home to _what_?!" Bonnie barked. "Our world is in _ruins_ now—and who knows what has happened since we've been here! Hell—who knows _how long_ we've been here! Hours?! _Days_ maybe?! Is there gonna be anybody alive when we get back?! Will our bodies be alive even?! What if _this_..." She threw out her hand to point out what was around them, "...is _all_ we have now!"

"Bonnie, _please_ , after all we've been through—" Martha tried, but was cut short by a new voice. A female one.

"Let her go," Marta advised as she entered the group from the outer circle of it. She was approaching the center to stare at Bonnie. "I'll take her place."

"Who are you?" Martha asked in confusion.

"Marta!" Roddy beamed and came toward his old traveling companion.

She turned and knelt down to fast accept Roddy into her arms. "Hey, boy..."

"What are you doing here?!" he asked, a bit perplexed despite his elation.

"It's a long story, I'll tell you after, okay?"

He pulled away a bit to face her. "Okay. I am glad you're here, though."

"Hey!" Bonnie interrupted, and everyone stared once more at her. "I hate to break up the reunion here, but are you going to allow me to leave?!"

Marta raised herself up again and said to Bonnie, "Like I was saying, she should go if she really wants to. Baxter never forced any of us to come here, and she was right not to. Bonnie, if you really want to risk what's left of us, then go. But if you do, just realize that you will probably never know whether or not were able to beat this thing. And rebuild our world from what remains. There _are_ still people left...But go—if all you are is what's in the past."

Bonnie looked about to the others in desperation and suspicion.

The group was now clearing a path to the outside scene of mayhem and panic. Their eyes were grave as they stared on at Bonnie.

She hesitated for an instant, then bolted forth and raced through the opening, screaming for her baby sister. It wasn't long before she was quite far away.

"Anybody want to leave as well?" Marta asked.

But no one had a chance to respond—as the second plane hit the other tower, and exploded just as brilliantly and frighteningly as the first. The city people were screaming yet again, and someone was saying, "Oh my God, it wasn't an accident—they meant for this to happen!" Someone else hollered, "Those sick sons-a-bitches!" Expletive curses toward Middle Easterners began to fly left and right. The anger was immense.

Everyone in the group turned back to Marta—and shook their heads no.

"Form up!" Roddy shouted and took Marta's and Martha's hands into both of his own.

Then the women took other hands in the group, and soon the collective was joined together in hand clasps.

Roddy started the chant, " _This is not real!_ " And the group joined him in booming the chant over and over.

For the next twenty minutes, they chanted as people from the city ran around in and out of buildings and shops. Running around like headless chickens.

Many people came up to the group and pleaded desperately for them to aid in rescuing others from the Twin Towers. " _Please!_ " they would beg.

But the group would not listen.

One man rushed up to them and shouted, "Listen! I'm a city engineer! And I can tell you for certain that these towers are coming down! And when they do, there's gonna be a poisonous dust cloud that will cover the city! You've got to disperse and run as soon as you can! For Godsakes don't just stand there singing Koombyah!"

And he ran off, motioning the people in the collective to follow him.

But still the group would not budge.

A few minutes later, South Tower collapsed on itself....

Chapter 84

Mikey began to whine mercilessly once more. He was still laid out in the backseat of Delia's car. The granola bar naturally only subsided his hunger for a short time.

"That's it," Kenneth announced as he marched over to the driver's side front door.

Delia tracked him with fear and said, "Where are you going?"

"Back into town to try and find Mikey some food," he said resolutely as he opened up the door and got in.

She rushed around and met him when he slammed the door shut. "Kenneth, please, no!"

"Would you rather he starved to death?!"

"We can't go back there! We barely made it out!"

"You can stay if you want. But I'm leaving now." His eyes told her he wasn't bluffing.

"You'd leave me out here all on my own?!" she asked with hurt and shock.

"Might serve you right! How would _you_ like to resort to raccoon guts for your next meal?!" He roared the engine to life and put the car in gear.

"Kenneth, don't leave me, _please!_ "

"Well then get in!" he yelled, losing his patience with her.

She hesitated with a hysterical look, then went around and got in next to him. When the door was shut, he peeled off.

Once the car got moving for a time, Delia moused out, "...He...he ate a raccoon?"

"Two," Kenneth coldly corrected.

Fresh tears fell from Delia's eyes. "I'm sorry..."

" _Oh_ —and he also had to drink their blood to stay hydrated," Kenneth added.

"...Oh God..." she blubbered in her crushing guilt. "...I...must be a monster— _I'm_ a Destroyer..."

"...I don't know about that...But you're definitely going to need some help...If we can still find a place on this earth that hasn't gone insane."

Chapter 85

In medical, the situation was far from good.

The agents, despite their reinforced potency courtesy of the source, were brought to their end by the bulk of Marta's blood.

But now the room was flooding, and already the floor was covered in two feet of water. Everyone who was still conscious eyed the power plugs for the life support machines...which were three feet from the floor.

And everyone knew that, not only were the sleepers in danger, but the rest of them as well. Once the water hit the power supply, all would be electrocuted.

Tab asked Larabee, "These life supports have a back-up battery life in them, right?"

"They do," he admitted, "but only for a fifteen minute charge. And we're going to have to hold them over our heads pretty soon, the way this floodings going."

"Then that's what we'll do," Mary concluded with finality. Though she looked at the life support units and wondered just how long she would be able to hold such a heavy piece of machinery.

Chapter 86

The South Tower had sunk into itself and squeezed out plumes of grayish dust clouds in the process. By the time it had collapsed entirely to the ground, the thick wall of dust had spread out in all directions and for miles. The streets couldn't be seen any longer.

The collective had been enshrouded by the clouding, and it was all they could see. It should have suffocated them—but the group knew it wouldn't. They knew that none of it was real, only more macabre window dressing from the diseased "heart" they had entered.

The gray soon turned to pitch black, yet the collective could still see each other as clear as day.

"Whatever comes next," Avery started with conviction, "stand together and don't let go of anyone's hand. Stay connected and unified." He looked about to catch their responses. All nodded with set and determined eyes.

The blackness abruptly disappeared and was instantly replaced by a smoldering wasteland of a broken city. It was New York again but not as 9/11 was taking place. It was now, and it was the result of what the chaos realm had inflicted on the world.

This had to be the final step, they all realized. Either they won here or lost here.

"This is going to be the worst of them all," Avery warned, "Stay focused."

"No one's leaving," Paul affirmed then asked the others, "So say we all?"

And they chorused in unison, "So say we all!"

And Benton decreed, "We're gonna make this thing wish it had stayed in our dreams!" His eyes were tense and fiery.

The collective roared in their unified support, hands gripped tighter as they yelled.

Someone from the mayhem came near the group, and screamed, "B-B-Benton!!!" It was an infected man, shivering and jerking. The group turned to face him. "It was _you!_ " He pointed a jittery finger at Benton. "Ya-you a-a-and your doctor f-f-friend, Baxter who did this to us _all!_ "

The group turned back to stare at Benton with furled brows.

Virg asked, "What's he talking about, doc?"

Benton visibly swallowed hard then responded, "This is true...Baxter and I are in a way responsible for what has happened..." He looked about to see that everyone's eyes were narrowing. "...Our initial discovery and exploration to this reality...had directly affected its decision...to invade our world wholesale..." Tears shimmered in his eyes and he grimaced in shame. "...The day after our traveling to here and back...the chaos virus began to spread to us."

The hands that were clasping Benton's in unity suddenly let go.

He tried, "But we had no idea that _any_ of this would happen! We didn't _want_ any of it to happen!" He craned his head quickly to face skyward. "We didn't come here as _invaders!_ We only wished to make a breakthrough in our research! Not threaten your world!"

"B-b-but," the afflicted man replied for the origin, "you have sh-shown yourselves as destroyers time and again! Conquerors of all you can get your hands on! T-t-ell me there wouldn't have been more of you to come—infecting our world with your ordered patterns of intellect, your clarity of thought! It's l-l-like fingernails on a chalkboard to us!!!"

Benton gazed back upon the collective and pleaded, "Please understand, Baxter and I feel sick to our souls over this. It's why we recruited all of you to come here and stop this thing from completely destroying everything we hold d—"

"Get out," Gertrude said to Benton with malice. "Get away from us."

"No—wait—try and underst—"

"Leave us!" another of the group shouted. "NOW!"

"Millions...millions have died..." George uttered in disgust for Benton.

"I know, I _know,_ " Benton said in crushing guilt. "But I'm— _we're_ doing our best to fix as much as we can—"

"You scientists..." Gertrude sneered, venom in her eyes. "...you made it possible for so much destruction in our past...Millions upon millions because of chemicals that scientists like _you_ have created..."

Someone else spoke up, "How 'bout the damn H-bomb!"

And George added with gritted teeth, "I lost _five_ of my closest friends in Vietnam to Agent Orange..."

"Stop!" Avery ordered. "Do you see how easy this thing has turned us around?!"

"He's right!" Martha concurred, "I lost one of my sisters to this epidemic, and I'll never feel right about it! It hurts—bad! But turning against Benton now will only make things worse for those who are still alive! We can't save those we lost! But we _can_ save those who are alive! I have another sister...and she doesn't have much time left!"

Marta thought about mentioning that Mary was fine now, free of the virus' effects. But thought better of it—Martha needed to stay focused and motivated to bring the "heart" of this world to its knees. Instead, Marta shouted to the group, "She's right! how many more will _you_ let die because of your anger over a horrible error in judgment?! Hate him later! Pass sentence on him later! Right now you _must_ take his hand again!"

This silenced the others, though their expressions remained grim, heated. A moment later, reluctant hands grabbed onto to Benton's again.

"Paul..." Virg gravely said to get his partner's attention.

Paul looked at him but then noticed Virg wasn't looking directly back at him. He was staring past the group, at two individuals trying to make their way across the chaotic scene to some sort of safety. Paul knew them.

Tabitha and Joey.

But an agent landed from on high right in front of them.

And spewed black blood all over the woman and the boy.

Paul's face tightened greatly. Through gritted teeth he ground out, "It's not real...it's not..."

Tab and Joey immediately bucked and flailed wildly as a result of the blood exposure. Tab looked at Paul and screamed his name.

"You're not here..." he growled in resolve.

Close by Tab and Joey, two others came into view, trying to find their own refuge.

Virg's wife and daughter.

A car was coming fast for them, an old woman was at the wheel...

Virg jammed his teeth together, his face was taught. "...You son of a bitch..." He tried to close his eyes but found he could not.

The car hit.

And Virg exploded a raging scream.

"It's not real, Virg!" Paul hollered at his longtime friend; though he understood full well the effect these visions were having.

"Look at them. Look at them, Paul, they suffered unbelievable pain..."

The old woman had skidded to a halt, and was getting out of the car to stagger quickly over to the two she hit. She brought her hands to her yawned mouth in shock. She kept glancing at the injured woman and child then at Virg.

"...They suffered before they died, they told me they didn't die right away..." Virg uttered.

"I know, Virg...I love you, pard, you're my best friend...but I need you to say with me, it's not real. _Their_ suffering is at an end...Yours is going to have to be too...It's not happening, it's not real. Say it with me."

"...It's not real..." Virg got out but not with conviction. His face was shaking.

"Come on, keep going," Paul encouraged. "It's not—"

"It's not real..." Virg was doing his best to toughen up, set his jaw, and focus to believe what he was saying. "...It's _not_ real... _none_ of this is happening..."

"Gertrude!"

The group refocused elsewhere in the wreckage to witness Uncle Sidney...accompanied by four-year-old Gertrude. "Help us! Save us!" Sidney pleaded to the older version of his niece. "It's not too late!"

The collective stared tensely at the real Gertrude.

She was calm as she told them quietly, "It's all right. I'm okay. I've learned my lesson. They're not real."

"George! Hey, man!"

The group swung their sights again to focus on the source of the new male voice.

It was a friend of Mr. Talmage's, one from Vietnam named Steve Farley. And he wasn't alone. George's entire infantry unit from the war stood next to Steve. All were gazing at George. "What's up, Speedy Gonzalez?" Steve taunted. "Surprised you're not cutting and running by now."

"Steve..." George responded in a tone of conviction, "...I've suffered too long over what happened. Forty years is long enough. And like my _real_ friend over here, Gertrude just said, I've learned my lesson. No more guilt. None of this is real."

"Martha!"

The group switched their sights yet again to train on Martha's sisters, Mary and Mandy—who were caught in the middle of the madness.

Mary screamed out again, "Martha!" as she was trying to stabilize a crazily gyrating Mandy in her arms. "Please come here with another Valium! She's in real bad shape!"

Martha pressed her teeth tightly together under thinned and sealed lips. She breathed a bracing deep breath through her nose.

" _Please,_ Martha!" Mary begged in hysteria.

"I—can't—see—out of—my eye!" Mandy stuttered in fear.

"...No," Martha snipped her answer. Her composure was rigid, resolute. The hands she held gripped her tighter, and she returned the firmer grasps.

"What is _wrong_ with you?!" the vision of Mary screamed at Martha. "You're supposed to look out for us! To protect us! How can you just stand there?!"

"Because you're not here," Martha responded after another hard breath.

And suddenly, Mandy halted her flailing and jerking, and froze to stare directly at Martha. " _Oh_...but _I'm_ here..."

Then Mandy's fullness of hair began to flatten and drape straight down. The hair strands became matted and greased. Her face paled and sunk into itself. Purplish circles of decomposition ringed her eyes. Her body shrunk to emaciation.

She had transformed into a twin.

Mary cringed and gasped in horror then backed away from what her younger sister had become. The twin snapped to face Mary—and spat on her with grayish saliva. Repeatedly. Mary tried to shield herself with her arms but it was pointless, the effects were immediate. Mary, herself, was now morphing into another anorexic and corpse-like twin. It dropped its arms, no longer feeling the need to protect itself. And turned to casually gaze its dead eyes in unison with its twin right at Martha.

One of them spoke, "So you know, we entered your sisters when our own bodies became uninhabitable. Ask your Latin namesake next to you. She's the one who forced us to leave our original hosts."

Martha turned to face Marta, and fearfully asked, "Is this true?"

Marta immediately replied, "I did kill them, yes. But the rest, I don't know—but I'm betting it's a lie!"

"We're in your sisters' now," the other twin confirmed, "And in Mary, I'm infecting all of those in the medical bay."

"Don't believe it," Marta strongly advised Martha. "I don't know about your other sister, but I _know_ that Mary is fine—trust me on that."

Martha turned to face the twins once more, her stare needling...

The twins smiled at her. There seemed to be a shrug in their eyes—as if to say, fine, don't believe us. But we know the truth.

Martha pursed her lips in anger, and whipped another look at Marta.

And said unequivocally, "I believe you. It's not real."

The two women of the same name softened their eyes a bit in a gaze of mutual trust.

"Marta!!!"

The group tracked the source of the new voice, a girl's voice.

Celia's.

She was being held tightly from behind by a husky and mean-looking Latin American man. The same one she had killed days ago.

He was softly kissing Celia's neck and earlobe. Celia was shivering and crying in tightening dread.

She pleaded to Marta, "P-please get him off of me...Don't let him take me..."

"You're already dead," Marta succinctly said to Celia's captor. "I know because I put a surefire bullet in your head."

But the thick man only gazed leeringly at Marta, and whispered, "Shhhhhhh...let the boy watch what's going to happen..."

And Roddy was. With disgust on his face.

Still, he managed to ask Marta, "That's about enough, don't you think?"

"I do..." Marta whipped about to face all the members of the group. "...What do you say, everyone?! Is our guilt nothing but a memory now?!"

They all nodded, completely sure of themselves. More sure and clear than they had ever been in their lives.

Virg turned to the devastating vision of his wife and daughter, remembering all the sweetness and fulfillment they brought to his existence. And uttered, "I love you both with all that I am...Goodbye." He turned to face Paul and the others, and nodded his readiness.

Avery announced to all in a booming voice, "All right! Let's tear it down!"

But before anything could be done, the visions of all the specters from everyone's past suddenly revealed themselves as ghastly agents of the chaos realm.

And with inhuman hollers and shrills of white noise, charged the tight circle of the collective.

All eyes of the group were trained on the inward rushing agents around them. All were rock focused on their enemy...

...and in the next instant used their minds' unified strength to slam the agents with what looked like a massive gust of wind in all directions; slam them backward, high into the air, and miles away. Until they couldn't be seen anymore.

But now droves of zombified agents came out of the rubble of the cityscape surrounding the group.

There were at least three to four hundred of them—all called back to the source from wherever they had been on earth. All now converging on the collective.

Chapter 87

Kenneth and his family had just reached the city again. Both parents marveled in horror at just how much damage had been inflicted as they drove down whatever street that hadn't cracked open.

But they were also on the lookout for any food stores that might still be enterable—and might yet have food in them.

Delia noticed a gas station mini-mart that had miraculously survived the explosion of its gas pump machines. And hadn't been completely ransacked at this point. She alerted Kenneth and they pulled in to park in front of the store. He ordered her to go inside and grab as much food and drink as she could, in as many bags as she could carry. And come back out directly—no matter what happens around them!

She got out and went into the store, and found what she thought would be healthy enough to stabilize Mikey.

When she finished, she came back out and got in the car's front passenger side again. She held the bags up and said to Kenneth. "Here."

"No, no," he adamantly replied. "You're doing it this time. You're going to do what you should have been doing all this time."

She looked at him for a second like a deer caught in headlights.

He pressed on, " _Go_ , get back there, he's starving to death!"

She looked down, dreading what she would have to do for a beat, then she got back out with the bags and opened the back seat door. She set the bags on the ground and repositioned Mikey to sit up once more. He whined greatly.

She sat down beside him and reached into the bags for something to eat and drink. She pulled out a loaf of bread in its tied bagging and a plastic bottle of apple juice. The juice was warm but it would have to do.

She fed a few slices of bread to Mikey—but he wouldn't open his mouth to eat. Not this _again_ , Delia raged in her mind. "Mikey, _please_ , eat for me..." she begged.

Kenneth had been observing from the front seat, and now his look of hopefulness turned to a grimace. "You're going to have to apologize to him. Do it. And _hurry_."

"I'm sorry, Mikey," she offered solemnly.

"And swear to him that you'll never abandon him again."

"...I _swear_ I will never abandon you again." She sandwiched her lips in the extreme to fight back the urge to cry. "I swear it."

Kenneth eyed Mikey and said as gingerly as possible, "Mikey...let her feed you, buddy...You need to eat." He darted his stare to Delia and motioned for her to try again with the bread.

She hesitantly made a second attempt. When the bread met Mikey's lips once more, he continued to keep them pressed together...

...But after a few seconds he separated them and allowed Delia to insert the bread slice into his mouth.

"That's it, Mikey...there you go," Kenneth encouraged.

Soon, Mikey was chewing, swallowing, and opening his mouth for more.

Chapter 88

The power plugs were disengaged from their wall sockets, sleepers were being propped up torso-wise as the conscious ones lay behind them in the beds and supported them, and life support units were resting on laps of the sleepers themselves.

And the water level in the medical bay was at four feet deep and rising.

And Larabee was right. Soon the conscious ones would be holding the units on their shoulders or over their heads.

Until the fifteen minute charge ran out. Already they had spent eight minutes of the battery back-up life.

Chapter 89

Wave after wave of deathly agents came for the collective—and came on fast, with vicious eyes.

And wave after wave continued to be smashed backward, catapulted high into the air and far out of sight. The collective was seemingly impenetrable now, the ultimate infection for this diseased world.

Or the ultimate cure for it.

Hundreds of agents were now banished by the group, exiled from the source, wandering helpless in the ether of clarity that had out-waved from the new "heart" of this realm.

And this helplessness to instill any confusion or anarchy was now worse than fingers on a chalkboard. It was like listening to a high-powered drill right next to the ear.

But the collective wasn't done. All around them they witnessed buildings and shops warping and twisting with abandon—as if the heart of this world was seething with the need to embody chaos any way it could. Recognizing this, the group directed all of its energy on _un_ warping and _un_ twisting these structures—so that they began to take proper form once more. And it was happening, the architectures were reforming to their original construction, becoming pristine and workable. Lights turned on and neon signs flashed as they should. Video billboards uncrumpled themselves and began playing coherent advertisements.

And deep cracks in the roads and sidewalks moved toward each other and sealed up, as if there never had been a split to begin with. Now the ground surfaces were smooth and passable.

Around the corner of a building near an intersection, Bonnie Cabanero ambled forth on the smoothened, newly rejuvenated sidewalk. She stepped onto the healed street to approach the collective. She had something cradled in her arms. She stopped one yard away and brightly said, "Look, guys, it's true. I _did_ get her! Here she is!"

And indeed it was true: Bonnie's little sister _was_ with her. But not simply in Bonnie's grasp as one would normally expect.

It was _apart_ of her, melded to her left side chest and abdomen. "You see?!" she went on, "I was right! I knew I would be...I was _certain_ of it..." And she looked down at the baby attached to her. It cooed up at her. "Yesss, I was right, wasn't I, sweetie...m-hm..." Bonnie said in a pleasant, sugary tone to her sister.

"Bonnie," Avery called her attention. She stared up at him with attentive eyes. He said to her, "I'm sure I speak for all of us here when I say, we're deeply sorry that you decided to allow this thing to take you over—and use you as its mouthpiece or a final trick or whatever. But what's done is done. And you made your choice."

"No, but it's okay, you see? They get to be a part of us. All that we lost gets to be truly one with us again—"

"Goodbye, Bonnie."

And the group mind blasted her into the air and away from them.

Bonnie screamed, "NO, WAAAAIIIIIITTT...!" as she soared further and further into the distance; until she eventually became a pinpoint dot in the sky. Until she blinked out of sight.

And suddenly, a mountainous and heart crushing scream of anguish filled the air. It thundered everyone's senses, and caused them to squeeze tighter their hand holds. They clenched their teeth and resisted the urge to cover their ears.

A crack in the ground was forming beneath them. They focused their energies on it and closed it back up. The monumental whaling continued, even amped up a higher decibel level. Still, they refused to cover their ears.

The scenery was brightening, pulsing flashes of white.

The tormented howl intensified even greater, deafening to the collective.

But they were solid now, not affected by the increasing sound. They had become serene, centered, free of what hindered them.

The flash pulses began to slow down, and the vision of New York's cityscape became a gray and coagulating outline...

And then the super scream of pain abruptly ceased.

And with it, the instant collapse inward of everything in sight.

Infinite black space replaced the sudden implosion, leaving the spherical and alive-with-light union of joined minds as the only visible presence. The only thing of true substance now, palpable and in control.

The heart that once fueled and fed off this realm was at present too small to be seen, now only a microbe that couldn't be registered by the naked eye.

Chapter 90

The conscious ones were shaking with strain and exhaustion, their mouths revealing clenched teeth and growling grunts.

Life support units were hoisted over the waking people of the flooded medical bay. And the sleepers were still resting atop them. The water level had now risen considerably, up to the sleepers' chins.

The heavy-weighted units wavered up and down over heads as the arms supporting them struggled ever increasingly to keep the machines from the water.

But in the next instant it mattered not—the fifteen minute emergency charge had expended. Now the units were merely dead weight. The waking ones threw them into the rising water, where they sunk immediately.

Jinn desperately yelled, "Can we give them CPR to give them more time?!"

"It's worth a try until the water rises too high!" Larabee responded.

So Jinn began a vertical version of CPR on Avery, as Tab began the same on Paul, Mary on Martha, Baxter on Benton, Celia on Roddy, and Larabee on Joey.

For the next ten arduous minutes, they all performed the best resuscitation efforts they could. But it was clear that they couldn't continue for very much longer, being that they were already physically taxed from holding the life support units.

And the water was rising much quicker now. Obviously the breach of the bottom hull had widened.

Larabee was the first to voice what was becoming all too clear. "We can't stay here!" he said between breath-giving to Joey.

In between her own blowing of breaths, Tab screamed to Paul, "Come _onnnn!_ Dammit, come back!" And she kept up the procedure, though her arms felt like rubber now.

No one else chose to quit either. Even though they only had a foot of distance from the water line and the ceiling.

Jinn kept pleading, " _Please,_ Avery, _please_..." She pushed on his chest with the last bit of strength she possessed in her arms and shoulders.

But none of the sleepers would awaken.

Larabee pressed to all, "It has to be now! Stop the CPR or you won't have enough strength to swim out of here!"

Yet none would quit.

Jinn hollered to Larabee, "Get my children out of here!"

"NO, mama!" Thuan shouted in fear. Mae-Lin simply cried full blast.

"NOW!" Jinn barked at Larabee.

Feeling mentally trapped, Larabee hesitated for a second; then he grimaced in despondency and waded toward the Chen kids to grab them and head for the hatch. They fought him protestedly but he held fast and forced them to go his direction.

The water level now had only six inches till it reached the ceiling.

In the twisted up corridor outside medical, Larabee told the kids, "We're going under till we reach the stairs! Okay?! Ready?! Here we go!" And they dove under to swim the thick of the water, through the expanse of the corridor.

Back in the bay, it now became pointless to try and breathe life into the sleepers in any effective manner. And the arms of the conscious were locked up with fatigue.

They looked upon the sleepers and felt the agonizing holes in their hearts. All their efforts to keep them safe and alive for reviving were now for nothing.

And the world was likely lost for all the awake ones knew.

None tried to escape. It seemed to be an unspoken understanding between the conscious that either they left with the sleepers or they didn't leave at all.

Even Jinn, who had two children that still needed her. To her, it _was_ clear that she wouldn't be able to hold it together if Avery died. Sadly, she knew full well that her husband had given her too much credit as an uncrackable human rock.

And as the last few inches of air space remained, the conscious ones didn't bother to try and gasp those last few precious pockets of oxygen.

Instead they allowed themselves to submerge entirely with the ones they tried to save. To sink down and cradle the sleepers.

Until Baxter, Mary, Tabitha, Jinn, and Celia all lost consciousness themselves, and fell into the black of unknowing.

Chapter 91

The physical manifestations of the chaos realm were primarily depleted by now—most had fallen slack to the ground as lifeless shells. There were, however, a few animate stragglers roaming about various populated areas of the world. But they were aimless, no longer purposed in spreading anarchy. They simply wandered the streets, oblivious or careless of those around them.

Their power—their enormously freakish strength—had been drained. And angry citizens of all walks who had escaped infection attempted a few vengeful attacks. To their surprise, it was considerably easier to knock the corpse-ish beings down—to the point where they couldn't get back up.

Needless to say, people were having a field day across the globe—smashing, shooting, chopping, and tearing up the remaining agents they could find.

While other individuals of a bent nature were actually disappointed in the extreme; those who craved anarchy and apocalypse—of the human brand—screamed NO! in frustration. _"We were so close to the end!"_

Some people.

Yet those who relied on a healthy dose of order and structure tended to breathe a collective sigh of relief. To a certain extent, of course—a good portion of the world's population and resources were lost or in ruins.

Fortunately there was a bright spot, for those had been infected and had not been too far gone managed full recoveries. Some healed themselves within hours, others in mere minutes.

It was a hopeful sign to many, and a symbol in their minds that the world _could_ come back from the brink, and go on living.

The world's governments were currently communicating with each other, assessing their individual wholesale damage reports—and seeing what one might possibly do for the other. Every region of dense population had been hit with serious—and costly—devastation. Yet most agreed that South America would be a high priority for aid in that, for some unknown reason, it had been ravaged the most.

There were those who speculated as to the significance of this, but most agreed in the end that there could possibly be _no_ reason for it at all. It simply happened the way it happened.

Although one young thinker from that part of the world—one who had been to other realm and back—had quite a strong suspicion as to why.

Chapter 92

The naval dock was a blackened and gouged out crater. It had been bombarded so many times by the forward gun of the Yorktown that repair seemed unlikely. Simply building over burnt concrete wound would prove structurally unsound. If the resources became available in the future, it was a greater possibility that the entire dock itself needed to be replaced.

This, of course, matter little to the sleepers—now awakened fully—who were desperately trying to save their loved ones in the center of the crater. Now the revivers had become the ones to revive as Paul performed CPR on Tab, Roddy on Celia, Benton on Baxter, Martha on Mary, and Avery on Jinn. Larabee, of course, helped to see if he could bring Joey back to some semblance of respiratory regularity. He had barked to the Chen siblings to check the harbor's offices for a back-up defib kit. The kids naturally didn't relish running off into the night and into some foreign building to look around. But they complied anyway—they knew Joey's life could depend on it.

And so the former sleepers worked for minutes on end, begging and pleading that their resuscitation efforts weren't in vain. They had come so far and fought so hard to save the people of their world. And they had succeeded. Millions had died, but the few hundred million that survived owed their lives to the collective. But that would prove little comfort to Avery and the others if their dearest loves perished in the process.

It had been so close to the time they made it back to this reality; only a few minutes had passed since the conscious ones had slipped into _un_ consciousness through lack of air—and the sleepers had reawakened back into their own bodies.

Immediately it was clear what needed to be done, and Avery and the other present collective members sprung into action, swimming their CPR counterparts up out of the ship, up to the surface, and back to shore.

Now if they could just revive them in time before their minds lost too much oxygen...

The Chen kids came back to Larabee and told him they couldn't find the defib kit anywhere in the building. He thanked them for trying as he continued pumping on Joey's chest. It had already been fifteen minutes since the drowned ones had lost consciousness. Another five and it would be too late.

_Come on, dammit, let me make it in time, let me save her!_ Paul's mind screamed as he thrusted repeatedly on Tab's chest. _Let me be on time—this one last time..._

Of course, similar mental pleas of saving loved ones sparked through the minds of Roddy, Avery, Martha, Benton, and Larabee. Let the next few minutes turn the tide!

Thuan and Mae-Lin could only stand there, waiting. Waiting in tears and thoughts of a possible world without their mother. It was almost unfathomable to them. They were grateful to have their father back—more than grateful, in fact...But mama needed to be in the mix for the whole thing to fly right.

A sudden fountain of water spouted into the air from Tabitha's mouth. And she wheezed in a deep and prolonged breath, followed by her violent coughs.

Paul howled in utter delight. He sat her up and sat down beside her; he then placed his arms around his young wife as she continued to cough.

Twenty seconds later, Celia shot her own little spray of lung water into the night's sky. It splashed down on her neck as she, too, coughed repeatedly.

A few seconds later, Mary followed suit, actually catching Martha in the face with the forced out water. Ordinarily, Martha would be supremely angered by this—but under the circumstances she felt quite the opposite. "You did it, girl!" she joyfully praised her younger sister, and embraced her.

Ten seconds later, Benton successfully revived Baxter and actually kissed her for being alive. For Baxter, it was a surprising wake-up hello.

And then only a few seconds after—and for the sanity of Avery and his children—Jinn finally returned to the land of the conscious, hiccupping marathon coughs to echo the others.

And now it came down to Joey, who, of course, hadn't been awake in days, and no one knew if he ever would.

Larabee was becoming physically exhausted, his arms were locking up. Thuan offered to take over and the doctor allowed him to do so.

Nineteen minutes had now elapsed from the time of Joey's retrieval from the water. Nineteen and counting...

And suddenly, Thuan got a douse of upspringing water in his eye, shot from Joey's lungs. The Chen boy squinted instantly and wiped at his eyes. Joey opened his own—then immediately squeezed them shut as banging coughs came out of him.

Paul came to his side and sat him up. "Hey kid! You're awake!"

"My...my chest hurts" Joey got out between cough spasms. "Where are we? Why is it night?" Joey's eyes began to tense. "...My parents?"

Paul shared the boy's look as he gingerly said, "Son...a lot's happened while you've been asleep. Too much to try and explain right now...Please just try and understand that, despite what _has_ happened, it's a miracle you're alive...And I'm going to do whatever I can to look after you." He placed a hand on Joey's shoulder and squeezed it gently.

Joey looked about him, at the burnt out crater they all were in, and said, "It looks like a war took place here."

"One did." And there were many casualties, Paul thought, pondering especially the loss of his partner, Virgil Banks, whom he completely expected to see alive back in the world. But Marta had already warned Paul what he would find when he returned.

"Some machines are bad," Joey continued.

"But some are good," Paul countered with a measure of respectfulness for Joey's upbringing. He knew he would have to be tactful if he was to successfully transition the boy into a rational mode of thinking. "Don't you think?"

"...Some...maybe."

It was better than nothing, Paul thought. At least the boy wasn't freaking out, as most kids likely would in his shoes.

"Celia," Roddy tensely began as her coughs died down, "I saw Marta over there, and she helped us win the war...But she didn't tell me anything about her _real_ self over here...What happened to her?"

Celia gravely explained, "She used all of her blood to save us from those awful things—just like she said she would."

"But _why_ wouldn't she let me know—?"

"Because, son," Benton spoke up as he sat by Baxter, "She was going to stay behind—and keep a watchful eye on things over there.

"Before I came back, she made sure to give me a message for both you two. And it's simply this: I'm going to remain in this world to make sure that what once ruled here never becomes powerful again. And I want you and Celia to do the same in your reality there—because you know our world has its own brand of chaos.

"But she also wanted me to tell you this: don't mourn for me, for we plan to have many more times together. I fully intend for us to be happy and fulfilled together...so I'll see you in your dreams...And that was all she told me before we parted."

Fortunately for Celia and Roddy, that was all they needed to hear—as their smiles to each other proved.

Chapter 93

Delia's car was now fully loaded with food, drink, gas, and supplies—and currently driving its way out of the city. Kenneth was back at the wheel, of course, for Delia was still in no emotional state to drive.

She did, however, have it together enough to ask Kenneth, "Where are we going?"

He coolly responded, "I don't know. Just—out of town, away from any big population areas. It looks like things are calming down around here, but who knows if that's gonna last...We'll hole up somewhere for a few days, see if any radio or TV stations come back on the air. And if it looks like things really _are_ cooling off and returning to a little bit of normal, then maybe we'll come back."

"...And if they do...and we come back...are you gonna stay with us?"

"...I don't know...Part of me hates you so much right now, I just want to rip your head off..."

She dipped her head, and stared off in shell-shocked despondency.

Kenneth said on, "We'll...we'll just have to see what the next few days bring...That's all I can tell you right now."

Delia nodded slowly, as if she expected this exact response from her brother.

Silence filled the car for a tense moment...

And then Mikey suddenly broke it with a commanding, determined voice, "I think you better see how it goes— _now._ "

Kenneth's and Delia's brows both creased in unison; both ventured a confused looked at their son in the back.

"Mikey?" Kenneth said.

"I'd rather you referred to me as Michael, if you don't mind. And whether you despise my mother or not, I would prefer it if you didn't waste any more of your life in a cold ass warehouse, and going to the bathroom in some open field. You should be with us."

Delia was shocked. "Mikey...oh my God..."

Kenneth shot Delia a look. "How did you know...Has he ever directly and fully spoke to anyone like th—?"

"No...never..."

"She's right," Mikey corroborated succinctly. "I haven't ever before. As I was, I simply couldn't."

"...Then...how are you able to do it now—?"

"With a little help from a new friend of mine...Someone who had been looking for me way before you two."

Neither Kenneth or Delia could respond to this explanation, they simply didn't know how to. None of it made any sense to them.

But to Michael it made perfect sense. "Anyway, back to what I was saying before: neither of you has the right to bail on me, regardless of how you feel about each other. Or about Green Sky, or about the situation of the world currently, or about _anything._ " Michael now had restrained fury in his eyes. "We are family. And we are going to be together from now on. And if either of you decide to cut and run again, my new friend has _another_ friend who will help me track you down. The bullshit _ends now_.

"And we are not heading out of town, father. Because the chaos is not going to come back—we've won; my new friend and his friends made sure of it. We're going back to our house if it's still in intact.

"But first we're driving to the coast, that is if we can catch them there..."

"Why the coast?" Kenneth asked, now mentally shell-shocked himself.

"Because there are some people that might still be there at the naval harbor. Some people worth knowing."

Coda

Roddy stared at his appearance in the mirror of the conference hall ready room, and checked his tie.

When he was confident of his proper look, he turned to the desk beside him and picked up his birthday card. He already read it, of course, when Celia gave it to him this morning. But he wanted to see it again and feel close to his sister...and his surrogate mother.

He opened up the card, skipped the preprinted passage and read what Celia had wrote:

Happy 30th, Monkey Breath!

—From your sister (Celia, of course!)

and your second mama (Marta, of course!)

and from all those who stayed with her—

to keep our dreams awesome!

Enjoy the conference and your day!

Love, sis

He smiled warmly then closed the card and placed it inside his briefcase—which also contained a copy of his speech for the conference.

Which would begin in just a few moments. With that in mind, he left the ready room with his case and travelled the halls to the main auditorium.

He met his publicist just before walking on stage, and she said to him, "You can still back out if you're getting cold feet."

"You are the worst publicist, you know that?" he joked and cracked a grin at her.

"Then why did you hire me?" she put to him with her own smile.

"You were the cheapest around."

"Hey, there's more to life than the highest salary. Lucky for you I happen to believe in you."

"Are you bating me somehow into possibly running for office someday?"

"Politics. Who needs it. Besides, you already have the ear of the most powerful man in the country. Why even bother running."

"True, I suppose." Though he felt a little uncomfortable with her inference.

The announcer had been priming the audience for Roddy's arrival, but now the man had actually announced Roddy's name. That was the cue, the audience began applauding.

"Knock 'em dead, Monkey Breath," his publicist said.

"Stop reading my birthday cards," he chided with a cocked eyebrow, but his grin remained as he turned away and headed out for the bright of the stage. The clapping sounds increased as he revealed himself to the crowd. Soon, however, it died down and he began his speech.

"Thank you...There's a quote from an old book I read and it goes simply like this: 'Never is there more certainty of purpose than the ambition of a child.'

"When I was a child, my greatest ambition growing up in Venezuela was to win a game I called War. It was sort of a souped up version of dodgeball that I would play with my sister—who is here with us tonight. Stand up, Celia, show 'em how pretty you are!"

Celia stood from her seat in the audience and waved at the people around her, smiling. They applauded her...and a few men whistled.

"All right, okay, calm down, her husband's here too," Roddy jokingly warned to the wolf whistlers. People laughed in response. Celia sat back down and stared on at Roddy again. He continued. "When we played it was serious—yet always for fun, always to keep the _real_ war at bay from our souls, our hearts...Sometimes I would even let her win."

"Sure, sure," Celia called out. Laughter followed. And Roddy joined in.

Soon he sobered and said, "But like I said, we played for escape. And we were good at it, we had to be. So much conflict had plagued our country, so much hatred and greed...We just wanted a reprieve, a chance to feel like kids.

"All of us here are old enough to remember the Great Chaos War, and the ravages it brought to our world. And when that began, it brought our childish games and escapes to an end—and we were forced—my sister and I—to face the real war. The war of fear...and for many of us, the war of guilt.

"But my sister and I were strong. Because we wanted to survive...And we kept that innocence of purpose and hope.

"And in our own ways, we helped others _see_ in themselves that it was important to embrace that innocence, that clarity of direction. Both during that world war, and after.

"Some people still come to me and ask what it was like to travel to another dimension, to a different realm of existence. And I always tell them, in one way it was terrifying as _hell_." The audience laughed a bit. "But in another way it was a blast, particularly in helping those who also travelled there come together for one purpose, one directive, free of crippling confusions of guilt and loss.

"In the war, my sister and I lost our mother—and that should have crushed us because she was such an amazing presence in our lives. But as I said, we remained strong together. And we met a woman in our travels to this great country, a woman named Marta Prieto—who must have received a spiritual call from our mother. Because Marta came to us in our time of need. And she shared our innocence and hopes, as well as guided us.

"On our travels to here, we encountered city after city of death and destruction. But we also found life in each other, a bright light that sustained us as we journeyed to our final destination—the great state of New York.

"We had hoped to find Marta's aunt and uncle—who, by the way, are actually here with us tonight. But we couldn't find them then—and we feared the worst had happened, what we had seen so many times.

"But we still didn't give up hope. We listen to a radio message, surprised there even _was_ radio broadcast, and we heard of a special initiative known as Straight Arrow. A mission that would serve as the last hope for our world.

"And in volunteering for this mission, I found an amazing group of individuals who lived up to the name of the project. They _were_ the straight arrow that pierced the deciding wound into the heart of a corrupt consciousness. And I'm proud to say that I had a hand in that outcome.

"But in the process, many of those great minds had lost their physical lives. So they had a crucial decision to make: _stay_ within that alternate existence and help forge a new order...or try to come back here in some form or another.

"And those who did come back found the most beneficial ways to do so. In Billings, Montana, there was a man who had been blind since his injury in Vietnam. But then the mind of man named George Talmage merged with this man's brain waves. And together they were able to repair the damage to his optic nerves. In Northington, Alaska, a woman merged with a Parkinson's victim—and overcame the disease.

"And a particularly special occurrence close to my heart—the mind of a state detective named Virgil Banks melded with a boy who suffered from severe autism. This affliction greatly hindered this boy's ability to freely communicate with the world around him. But now he is one of the most affluent communicators _and_ innovators I have ever encountered. The boy's name is Michael Carson—but he prefers to just be called Banks theses days. And one word of warning: don't try to test him on his bird knowledge, because he will just plain put you to shame. He's here tonight, folks, please give him— _or,_ if you like, them—a hand, won't you?"

Michael—or Banks—stood up from his seat in the audience and looked about the crowd as they applauded. He smiled and offered, "Hi, everyone, glad to be here!" And they applauded more, louder at his ability to speak fluidly, effectively. The noise subsided and he sat once more to face Roddy.

Who spoke on, "Virgil, as I mentioned, was a state detective for New York State. And he had a trusted work partner named Paul Danford—another veteran of the war who was a part of what we now refer to, of course, as the 'Arrow Collective.' He, Virg, and I fought along side each other to thankfully turn the tide in the war.

"But first we had to overcome our personal demons—our guilt, our loss of loved ones, our mental and emotional turmoil— _our own_ personal chaos—to successfully crush that which threatened our entire existence.

"Now we all know the reason that the war began in the first place was because two particular scientists had the desire to explore a new dimension. And sadly as we all know, their discovery and exploration of that alternate reality resulted in terrible loss and mass destruction—we lost so many dear to us.

"So some could say that, 'Oh, these irresponsible and reckless scientists, they've brought us more of the same genocidal circumstance that they always did. The hydrogen and atom bombs, nuclear energy, chemical weapons—and let's face it, those people would be right. The scientists who created Straight Arrow knew it to be true in hindsight. And though they took appropriate action to try and salvage our world, they still recognized their awesome accountability for the ravages of the war. And we know they freely surrendered themselves to the authorities for incarceration that lasts to this day.

"How you will respond to this next statement will likely be divided—but it is my hope that they will be released one day. For as much despair as they caused, they also created hope for those who had little.

"Where Straight Arrow was once an initiative for an offensive to save our world, it now stands for a second chance for many who never dreamed of having certain advantages in life.

"Now we have had our critics in the past who question the validity of our company's directives. That our formula's ability to transmigrate is an inherent intrusion and violation to the mind of an individual.

"But if there's one thing I learned from growing up in South America, it's that coercion and oppression do more harm than good. Our formula and its administering have _always_ been on a voluntary basis. No person is allowed to merge with another's mind energy without full written consent of both parties involved.

"And no person is allowed to take the formula without first knowing all the risks. I don't think we need to go into too great a detail over the theft incident that occurred three years ago." Someone raised their hand. "Yes?" Roddy asked.

"Is it true that one of the individuals who stole the formula went into anaphylactic shock after taking the dose?" the person asked loudly.

"Yes, it is, I'm sad to say. To most who have taken our chemical inducement, they have had only positive results. But there will always be a small percentage who will be susceptible to an allergic reaction from it. We _have_ now, however, implemented a viable screening process that will pinpoint the susceptible ones ahead of administering."

Another hand went up and Roddy acknowledged the hand's owner. "What do you say to the critics who bring up the moral and religious implications of what Straight Arrow represents?"

"I would say to them that I fully respect their points of view. I would never want someone to participate in Arrow who had a fervent desire to pass on naturally. Whatever awaits us in the afterlife, to tell you the truth, I'm quite excited about. The fact that we have had conclusive evidence of another realm of existence only makes me more certain that other plains of reality are out there."

Someone else shot their hand up and was allowed to ask, "What of those who cannot benefit from your formula—say, those who are terminally ill and haven't long to live—but feel they have more to contribute to our world?"

"I would say, again, that they have a great choice to make. If no one can merge with them to improve their physical condition, then they can opt to join those in the new realm. And for however long they wish to remain with the extraordinary souls working and communing there. Obviously, it's common knowledge these days that those minds can always visit others in their dreams—or merge with another viable candidate. Again, I want to stress that coercion on any level is not our policy.

"I think it speaks volumes that we have had the support of the Chen Administration for the past seven years. And that most governmental bodies across the globe have given their support behind our initiative as well." Roddy looked about and asked, "Are there anymore questions?" No one replied. "No? Well then I certainly want to thank you all for coming and listening to what I had to say. And I hope I can have your continued or future support in our company's endeavors. Oh—and before I go, I want to mention and thank one more good friend among us...I mentioned Paul Danford earlier but he is also with us, along with his cohorts from Ironguard Security who are working the room tonight. Paul? Please stand up for the good people here."

From the center of the audience, Paul stood and waved to the audience, who all seemed caught off guard that he was part of the security detail.

"He surprised you, didn't he?" Roddy said with a jovial smile to the crowd. The audience laughed. "Paul, is anyone in the audience concealing a hypodermic?"

Paul patted himself down then replied, "Not as far as I know."

More laughter came from everyone.

Roddy went on, "Thanks again—oh, before I forget, one last thing—any parents in the audience whose kids are big fans of the _Peculiar Penguin_ series are welcome to a copy of the new book, that you can pick up in the lobby! All courtesy of Triple M publications, and a special thanks to the author, Mary Drake!"

Most parents in the audience cheered and applauded upon hearing this announcement.

"Thanks, folks, I'll see you soon, Marta, I'll see you in my dreams, and Celia—let's meet our families for dinner! My kids are bugging their mama for food, of that I'm certain!"
