A Shrouded World (Book 5): Asabron Read online

  “Fuck me,” I said as I pulled back to a loud, wet plopping sound.

  “Good to have you back,” the extremely large red creature said. At the time, the words were a jumbled mess of sound that I could not understand, but the intention seemed amiable. Another creature had decided to give me a go; as I got a better grip on my club, it bucked in my hands, giving off a loud sound and splashing the brains of the monster onto the wall behind it.

  That good, was my only lower primate thought. With the exploding club thing down by my side, I kept pulling on the boom part. Most missed, but two more found their mark. My wits were beginning to catch back up to the maelstrom of misfiring neurons even as I pulled on a lever that no longer made noise. There was one final monster, and I, as of yet, had not figured out the magic that made my boom stick work. It was the other large being in the strange clothing that turned and swung his club; there was one final shudder and the initial enemy was gone. I hoped that whatever alliance I had with the other two beings did not become null and void now that the threat was neutralized.

  “Are you all right?” The larger being had stooped down and was looking at my face. “I would swear, Michael, that your eyes are swimming in that skull of yours. We must leave this place. I fear the parents may be back to check on their offspring and will be none too pleased with what they find.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” I turned slowly as the other one spoke.

  “I believe wherever he has traveled has left him with cognitive disassociation.”

  “So, is he going to be stupid forever? Or more stupid, I mean.”

  “There is little time to worry about that over which we have no control. Can you walk?” Big Red asked. He moved away and motioned for me to follow; I did so, as at the moment I had nothing else going on and I decided I was hungry and that he might have some food. The further we walked, the more my head began to pound. The pain was something along the lines of a migraine while at a heavy metal concert with lasers from the light show shining directly in my eyes.

  “Need a minute.” Apparently, those were the first coherent words I had muttered since my return. I sat on the roadway, cross-legged, letting my head sag down. The pain began to ease and continued to lessen as I drank some water.

  “What happened?” Kalandar asked.

  I proceeded to tell him everything I knew about where I was, or at least as best as I could describe, sort of like a blind person explaining color.

  “So not only do the overseers wish to stop the melerforns with Trip, they wish to use him for their own means?” Kalandar asked.

  “It would appear so.”

  “This is much worse than I feared,” he said, and began to walk, not even asking if I was ready to continue. BT helped me up and we lumbered forward.

  7

  Jack Walker

  With a sigh, I rise from the asphalt, wiping away the last trickle of a tear. Gone is the downpour and the hordes of zombies pushing ever forward. Pristine fields of grass gently blowing in a breeze now stand where mud, trenches, and lines of vehicles were. Looking at the surrounding hills, I see the tops of trees lightly swaying. Overhead is a bright blue sky with only a couple of slowly crossing white clouds.

  Turning back toward town, I note the streets and yards are empty of people. There are no shouts of children playing or the background murmur of a living city. There’s only the sound of the breeze. Nothing else. Absolutely nothing.

  My clothing is no longer wet or covered in mud. I’m not wearing the jacket I had on to keep warm, and my boots aren’t soaked. Standing on the highway, I’m curious and check my weapon. There’s no mud, and the barrel is clean as though it’s never been fired. Digging through my pack, I find food and water next to the extra mags I was carrying. It’s as if everything was, what? Renewed? Refreshed?

  As I begin walking back toward the town, I’m again struck by the fact that I never seem able to get very far from the town. I remember the first time I attempted to enter when I arrived, encountering some kind of barrier that kept turning me around. But now, it’s as if something always comes up to draw me back in. It’s not that I meet something physical, but events keep transpiring that I’m inevitably pulled back.

  If this keeps happening, I have no idea how I’m going to find a helicopter. As far as that goes, I don’t really even know why we need a helicopter. Sure, it would make it easier to travel, but I don’t know why that’s required. There’s also the problem of Kalandar. I mean, how in the hell are we supposed to get that big boy into a helicopter? The thought of trying to cram the demon with Mike into one brings a smile to my face. Shit, he could probably carry the damn thing with us in it. A picture forms of Kalandar throwing us like some paper airplane for his amusement. This visit has certainly become a strange one.

  I enter the edges of town where houses line the streets. The lawns and bushes are perfectly manicured, the homes without any signs of wear. The windows reflect the exteriors as if they were mirrors without a single bit of grime marring their surfaces. Vehicles are parked along curbs and in driveways with a precision that hints at being placed, all looking as if they just came off a showroom floor. Trees along the curb between the sidewalk and street sway in time to the passing breeze without a single piece of debris fluttering down the avenue. The whole place looks like a newly constructed model town that’s ready to be shown.

  I have thoughts of heading over to Bill and Lynn’s house, but decide that there’s no real point to it. Their house may be like these others, all seemingly vacant. If they are there, I’m not sure I want to encounter them again. It’s just too much, seeing Lynn and whatever version of the kids might be there. The best bet is to do whatever it is I have to do here and hopefully get out. If there was a way in, there just has to be a way out. And I mean really out.

  Picking a house at random, I walk up the driveway. Opening the door of the parked pickup, I’m greeted with a chime, and the interior lights come on. I search the ignition, visor, and floorboard for keys, but come up empty. The sound of the door closing echoes across the silent neighborhood.

  I rap on the front door, the knocks ringing hollow inside. The door handle twists easily, and I open the door a crack, calling inside without answer. Pushing it all of the way open, I see that the interior is like the outside—meticulous. The smell is fresh and clean, the furniture carefully arranged to perfection, the carpets also clean without any sign of wear. Jackets hang from pegs in the foyer alongside keys dangling from smaller ones.

  Stepping inside, I grab a set of keys that look like they’d go to the truck in the driveway. Further inside, a living room opens up from the foyer. Remote controls are centered on a sofa table beside a vase of freshly cut flowers. In the kitchen, pots and pans gleam brightly where they hang from a pot rack. Curious now, I open one of the kitchen drawers to find neatly stacked silverware. Forks lay upon other forks so precisely that I doubt there would be a millimeter of one edge extending from the alignment. Spoons are nestled inside one another. The cabinets hold plates and bowls again arranged with precision. I feel like I’m back in basic training where everything had to be folded and arranged just so. I remember having to tape everything in place. I removed the T-shirts and such from their packages and never unfolded them, even leaving the cardboard in place. I had duplicates that I actually used that were placed in my personal drawer. A shiver runs up my spine as I realize that I’m the only thing that is out of place.

  Upstairs, I find the same in each of the rooms. Clothes are folded neatly in drawers, items in the bathroom placed meticulously. I love neatness and organization, but this is too much. I’m sure I’d find the same conditions in the other homes, and it’s pretty obvious that this is a staged event. I catch myself wondering if there are plans to place people in this town—implant memories and such so that all of this seems normal. It’s all that’s missing from this perfect little town.

  I wonder if this is a reset for when things went awry—someone gathering data or playing some e
laborate game. It kind of makes me want to go through the house and disrupt all of the perfection, somehow break the rules of the game. Let’s see how the people react to showing up with their house in trashed.

  Back downstairs, I find a phone. Picking up the handset, I’m greeted with a dial tone. I press zero and hear ringing on the other end. It goes until I finally hang up. Opening the phone book squared on the table next to the phone, I dial a random number, which rings eternally. It’s a little eerie to see the trappings of civilization without anyone actually in it. However, it’s a far cry better than seeing limbs and faces protruding from surfaces. That was truly fucked up and something I don’t think I’ll ever get over.

  With the thought that people might materialize at any moment, I head back outside. The pickup starts right away. With the idling engine to keep me company, I pause for a moment to think the situation over. My job is to find a helicopter and meet up with Mike. Now, that’s going to be a problem because we never discussed where. It seems an odd thing that we would make plans about going our separate ways with no plan on getting back together. I suppose I could just fly around until I find them. I mean, how tough would it actually be to find a great big demon walking around?

  My problem is actually finding a helicopter. Supposedly there’s a war going on further inland, but is that just a smokescreen? I saw no sign of one other than Otter saying he had been a part of it. I guess there was also talk of recruiters coming through, but I don’t really know what to believe anymore. But, if there is a helicopter out there, I suppose I’d better find it. There’s only one road out of town, so my initial direction is an easy one to decide on. I haven’t seen any sign of aircraft here, but hopefully I can spot one further inland and follow it home. Once I find an airport or base, I’ll figure out the rest. That’s pretty much the extent of my plan.

  Now, the other problem is that I don’t know where I am. And by that, I mean in what dimension and time. Even if we had planned on a rendezvous point, there’s no guarantee that Mike and I are even in the same world anymore. We could be passing each other right now and not even know it. Have I mentioned how much I hate this place?

  After backing out of the driveway, I motor through the empty town. I figure with the community being situated on the coast, there might be some kind of sea rescue program, which might mean a helicopter. I find nothing near the harbor but docked boats gently rocking in the light swells. As I drive through town, I see no sign of life, not even gulls soaring over the beach as they search for food or squawking madly when some is found. I try the hospital and then drive down every street without luck. It feels like I’m the last person on earth. Of course, I could also be the first.

  I finally find myself back on the highway out of town where I stood a while ago. The sun is heading toward the afternoon, and I wonder if I should begin my adventure now or wait. The night runners will come when the sun sets; that has been the only constant in this nightmare. Should I drive out and head back to the cabin or wait for them in town? Should I use the hours at my disposal to drive far away in search of another place? If I remain, then whoever set this up might just decide to start depositing people in their places. I’m not sure they’d take kindly to me making myself at home in their house. I feel like I finally have a chance to escape this town, and the longer I wait, the greater the chance I’ll be pulled back into it. With that in mind, I put the truck in drive and motor my way out past the green fields.

  Trees close in on both sides of the road as I enter the narrow valley with the river running through its midst. The freshly painted lines of the highway seem overly bright due to their newness, but so does the sunlight streaming through breaks in the trees. The river, seen through the same breaks, gleams brightly. I roll down the window, hearing the hum of the wheels on the asphalt and smelling the fresh scent of pine. For one of the first times in this place, I feel at peace. I’m breaking away from the town and have a direction in mind. But mostly, it’s because the day feels perfect.

  I know the feeling won’t last long. I’ll have to pull over and begin hiking up the steep slopes to my right before night falls. I want to be at the cabin by then and will remain there until morning when I’ll make my way back to the truck to continue my journey. But I’ll enjoy what I have for now. This place has at least taught me to enjoy these rare moments. The trees drift by as I motor along with my arm on the door of the open window.

  I glance inside toward the radio, wondering what kind of music they play here. Do they favor country? Rock and roll? Or do they have completely different tastes?

  Please don’t let it be disco, I think, reaching for the radio knob.

  A wash of static comes through the speakers. Turning the volume down, it seems that it’s more than just static—it behaves like a Geiger counter near a radioactive source. At intervals, the static suddenly grows louder like lightning is striking nearby. I rotate the dial and the static follows.

  I hit a burst of white noise and back the dial. The sound is like I’m holding a Geiger counter at the molten core of Chernobyl. But there’s something else hidden inside, almost like words. I listen carefully but can’t discern anything specific. It’s like words are being spoken, but then again, it isn’t. It could be a different language or just my overactive imagination, but it’s almost like chanting.

  I focus more than I probably should on the noise coming from the radio, but there haven’t been any vehicles on the road since the first ones when I arrived. It’s teasing me with the words just beyond the reach of hearing, and I try fine-tuning the station without success. The static noise rises, as do the words hidden within. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise with them.

  With the chanting taking on a more urgent tone, at least to my imagination, there’s suddenly a loud clap and the truck engine quits. The pickup begins to violently lurch as any vehicle will do when in gear and traveling at higher speeds without engine power. I jam the gear into neutral and step on the brakes, easing the truck over to the side of the road and coming to a stop. Turning the key again, there isn’t even the click of the starter.

  I sit behind the steering wheel for a moment. Again, it seems I’m not allowed to leave the proximity of the town. My perfect day is over much sooner than I’d have liked. Stepping onto the highway, I grab my gear and weapon, hiking the pack onto my shoulders. I’ll be on foot once more.

  Staring up the slope to where the cabin should be and then over to the sun settling further to the horizon, I judge that I should have enough time to get there before dark. The thought of climbing the damn hill again is depressing, but I don’t have much choice if I’m to find somewhere safe for the night. Plus, there’s the fact that my journey into the interior, if I’m allowed to make it, will take much longer on foot. I really hope that Mike doesn’t need that helicopter anytime soon, because the way things stand, it’s just not going to happen.

  The slamming of the truck door echoes off the trees and bounces down the highway, leaving behind the sound of the rushing river and the breath of wind through the boughs. I hate the thought of having to walk a long distance, but it’s really nothing new since being pulled from my world. And I’ll be going nowhere if I don’t take the first step.

  I readjust the straps to my pack and walk across the highway. The slope isn’t very accessible here, so I start down the shoulder to find a better way in. I’m not five steps before I feel a slight tingling sensation on my neck. Turning quickly around and dropping to my knees with my carbine finding its way to my shoulder, I’m taken aback. The truck that I had left parked a short distance away isn’t there anymore. It’s just gone. If it had rolled down the embankment, I would have heard it. I’d go back to see, but I have no desire to disappear as well. For once, common sense overrides my curiosity.

  Shrugging off the strange disappearance, I find a decent place to begin my climb. I step down into the ditch running alongside the highway, pushing my way through the bushes and into the woods. I’m not far into the tree li
ne when I hear the sound of vehicles on the road below. Placing myself behind a tree, I have a good view of the highway.

  A line of black hearses rolls along the road below like a giant snake. I don’t feel the fear come upon me as I did with the angels, but the darkly tinted windows give me the creeps.

  Now, where in the fuck did they come from?

  Inching further around the tree, I look up the road in the direction they’re coming from. Near where the truck vanished, the hearses are appearing one after the other out of thin air. There isn’t a shimmer as if there’s a portal or something, and the road and landscape beyond is just as clear as ever. But from out of nowhere, a front grill appears, followed by the hood and the rest of the vehicle. I count fifteen, with more arriving as if this is completely normal. They speed down the road as if they were late for Christmas dinner. By the twentieth car, I stop counting and fold behind the tree.

  As if this place could get any stranger, I think, wondering what else could be in store down the road.

  I suppose it could be worse. Instead of hearses, there could be clowns in their tiny cars, all tooting their horns as they motored along. I ponder for a brief moment which would actually be worse, a line of hearses or clown cars? I don’t come up with an answer.

  As quickly as they appeared, the vehicles stop arriving. I gaze down to the road in time to see the last one in line vanish around a corner. The flux of time and space on this world is getting out of hand. If there was some constant I could focus on, then I’d feel a little better about my chances of getting out of here. But as I thought earlier, the only constant in this place is that the night runners appear every night, and that’s not helpful in the least. With that thought in mind, I push off the tree and continue my journey up the steep slope.