Valley of the Shadow (22 page)

MITCH AND NATHAN CONTINUED
down the highway. The Ferrari kicked up twin swirls of dust along both shoulders of the road and Mitch skirted between them, close behind.

    He checked his speedometer: 105. Nathan was obviously feeling an increased sense of urgency since his latest vision through the window. He wondered what was going through the guy’s head right now—what it must be like to know he’d be dead any second. Mitch wondered how much longer Nathan had.

    And he wondered how much time he himself had left.

    Time was a funny thing. There was obviously no real correlation—at least no constant—between time in the material world and time in this place. After all, according to Nathan, Mitch had been in a coma for only two months.

    Mitch bit his lip. Two months!

    Not five years. Five long, dismal years. He tried to make sense out of everything he’d seen. He recalled all the people he’d come across. People who each in their own ways were dying and didn’t even know it.

    He remembered Conner, Helen, and Devon. They’d spent three terrifying days together. Conner had obviously made it back—that is, if Mitch could trust what Nathan had shown him through the magic window. But what about Helen and Devon? What had happened to them? Mitch remembered Helen had said that Devon had just disappeared into thin air. That must have been the key. When someone’s body was revived again, their spirits vanished from this place. But those who had been dragged off…

    Mitch thought again of Jason. He could still see the guy being dragged away into the forest by the gray creatures. But what lay beyond? What had happened to him? Where was he now? Mitch shuddered at those thoughts.

    The day crawled on toward afternoon, and the road stretched through the seemingly unending countryside. At last they came to the crest of a ridge and Mitch looked down the broad vista. Ahead of them rose the hazy shapes of skyscrapers on the horizon.

    They were coming up on some kind of city.

    Mitch frowned. A city? Out in the middle of this desert?

    Nathan seemed to increase his speed. Mitch accelerated as well. The city loomed closer, and soon the road widened to a multilane highway. Before long, they were traveling between the towering skyscrapers. Mitch had slowed and found himself gazing up at the enormous structures.

    The buildings appeared to be crumbling. Vacant windows were dark and missing glass. Large portions of the structures had crumbled away. The streets, too, were cracked and uneven. Piles of debris lay strewn everywhere.

    In the middle of the city, they came across an interchange. The highway rose to cross over another expressway. Suddenly, Nathan came to a stop in the middle of the overpass. Mitch rolled up next to the Ferrari. The entire bridge had broken off and Mitch looked down a sheer drop and a vast field of rubble on the highway below them.

    “Looks like a dead end,” he said.

    Nathan nodded. “We’ll have to find another way through.”

    From their vantage point, Mitch could see for miles. Everywhere he looked, he saw block after block of towers, buildings, and skyscrapers. Everything was shadowy, vacant, and crumbling. “Dude, what is this place?”

    “You don’t recognize it?”

    “Why would I?”

    Nathan raised an eyebrow. “Because you’ve been here before. But it probably looked a little different when you were here last.”

    Mitch stared at him for a moment and then back out over the desolate cityscape. It seemed to go on forever. “You mean this is—was—Chicago?”

    “Chicago, L.A., Singapore . . .” Nathan shrugged. “Name your town. This is it. The Gray City.”

    “I don’t get it.”

    “A lot of folks don’t even know they’re dying. They wake up here all disoriented, thinking everyone else has disappeared.”

    “Dude, that’s exactly what happened to me. But, I mean . . . this isn’t how it looked.”

    “Let me guess,” Nathan said. “At first everything looked normal. Sun shining, green grass. Everything looked nice.”

    “Yeah . . .”

    “That’s because your mind doesn’t know what’s happening to it. It hasn’t yet grasped the truth, so it creates its own reality. And you think everything’s normal. At first.”

    “But then everything starts to change.”

    Nathan nodded. “Most people here see what they want to see. They’re probably not even aware of you. Lots of them just go on with their routines, until . . .”

    “Right,” Mitch said. “Until the creatures come along.”

    “But others start to figure out that something’s wrong. And they leave. They head out of the city. Looking for answers.”

    Mitch frowned. “So how many people are in there? I mean, right now?”

    “I don’t know. Thousands probably.”

    “Thousands?”

    “Do you have any idea how many people die every day? around the world? every second?” Nathan shook his head. “Sickness, old age, wars, famines, murders… everyone’s unique. Everyone’s experience here is different depending on who they were. How they died. What they believed. What kind of lives they lived.”

    “Yeah, but they all end up the same.”

    “Except for the ones that are brought back to life somehow.”

    “Why can’t we see any of them?”

    “Oh, they’re down there. But most of them are still lost in their own kind of delusion and they see this place the way they want to. Or the way they remember it. Right down to the last detail. Some of them never come out of it before the Reapers come for them.”

    “Reapers? That’s what they’re called? The . . . the aliens?”

    Nathan offered a shrug and a grim chuckle. “It’s what I call them. As good a name as any, I guess.” Then his lips tightened. “But we need to get going. We’re going to have to find another way through, and it’ll be getting dark before long.”

THE WOODS, THE WOODS.
We’ll meet in the woods. The woods after dark.

    Howard trudged across the open field toward the black forest behind his farm. His flashlight cast a pale cone of light into the swirling mist, slicing left and right and down at the ground.

    Howard muttered to himself and his breath coiled out in steamy tendrils. “Meet in the woods. Meet in the woods.”

    He paused at the edge of the forest. Gnarled branches reached out to him like bony black fingers frozen in place. His heart pounded and he wiped his forehead with his bandanna, then plunged into the woods, pushing his way through the underbrush. There was no path, but he knew the way. He had been here before. It was the place they always came to meet him. To commune. To share their thoughts. Devise their plans. It was a sacred place for Howard. A sort of tabernacle. A sanctuary.

    Eventually he came to the small clearing where the dilapidated cabin huddled amid the trees. It was dark and shrouded in shadow.

    He stood in the doorway. The cabin was empty. Howard knew they weren’t here yet. But they would be coming. They would be here soon. His stomach curled with anticipation. It always sent a chill through him, waiting for them to arrive. A wave of terror and awe. To be so close to such power and yet to be of use to it. It frightened and thrilled him.

    Howard closed the door behind him and sat in the rocking chair next to the old iron stove. He sat in silence. Closed his eyes and breathed deeply as he rocked. He had to calm himself. Empty his mind of fear. There was still part of him that wanted to run. To hide. Part of him was desperate to leave this place. And he had to master it. Control his fear. Subjugate it for the higher purpose that drove him to this place.

    He breathed slowly. And rocked.

    Outside a breeze picked up and moaned through the trees. He could hear them coming. Whispers on the wind. Moaning through the branches. Coming in the mist. Howard resisted the urge to flee. It would have been no use anyway. He had to stay strong. Or he would never see his family again.

    The whispers grew louder, and soon Howard forced his eyes open. He let out an involuntary gasp. They surrounded the cabin. He could see them outside. Gray faces. White eyes. Black jaws, gaping open. They crowded around the window. Dozens of them. Hundreds. Just standing there, watching.

    Next, Howard heard a deep rumble. Like a distant truck coming closer. His eyes widened. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he wiped it again with his handkerchief. He struggled to control his breathing as the sound grew louder.

    The porch creaked. The door handle clicked and turned. The door swung open.

    Howard suppressed another gasp. It was always a fearful thing. He would never get used to it.

    A cold breeze wafted through the open door, carrying the pungent scent of rotting flesh. A thick black mist flowed into the room, curling and snaking across the floorboards.

    “Beloved.”

    Howard’s mouth went dry and he struggled to hide his fear. He bowed his head in a gesture of respect. His hands trembled. The mist curled around Howard’s feet and he recoiled instinctively.

    “Still repulsed by us, are you?” the voice said.

    “N-no.” Howard shook his head quickly. “No. Just a little… nervous.”

    “You have been of much use.”

    “I… I tried to keep up my end of the deal.”

    “And you have, my love. You have done well . . . but for this.”

    “I . . . I couldn’t keep him here. I just wasn’t strong enough on my own. I couldn’t force him to stay.”

    “We cannot let him leave. We must find him. Together.”

    Howard tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. He was always so thirsty.

    “To… together,” he said.

    The entire cabin seemed to shudder. A deep groan echoed through the forest. The black mist coiled around Howard’s legs, wrapping itself around him like a serpent. A thin tendril moved slowly up his torso and chest, up to his face.

    Howard leaned his head back slightly. His eyes closed. This was always the worst part.…

    The mist flowed into his nostrils and mouth. A long, steady stream. Howard felt his body stiffen, then convulse. It was almost like drowning. He could feel it flowing inside him. He could feel his mind being pushed back. Locked away. Locked up inside a cell.

    Slowly the convulsions stopped and Howard opened his eyes again.

    They were completely white.

CONNER SLOWED DOWN AS HE
approached the Bristols’ driveway. He was almost overwhelmed with a nauseating sense of déjà vu. The old clapboard farmhouse stood off the highway a hundred feet or so with two big oak trees in the front yard. Behind it, Conner could see the garage, the maintenance shed, the barn, the silo. Just as he remembered.

    The very idea that he’d been here before was mind-boggling. But had he actually been here? Or had the farm he’d visited been only some sort of facsimile—an exact replica that Howard had created for himself in the Interworld? In either case, the emotions it evoked as Conner pulled into the driveway were almost overpowering. His heart pounded and he found his hands gripping the wheel so tightly that they were cramping up.

    He parked and took several deep breaths before getting out.

    Mrs. Bristol pulled into the garage, then waved him around to the back. It was close to noon, so the sun was bright, making the whole place seem more cheery and inviting now than it had in the Interworld. Still, Conner found his legs sluggish as he climbed the back steps.

    He stood in the old kitchen. The same cabinets and beige linoleum floor, with the same table in the middle. Mrs. Bristol welcomed Conner inside and told him to make himself at home while she prepared sandwiches for lunch.

    Conner moved into the living room and sat down on the couch, where he could still see the kitchen. She kept talking—perhaps making up for the fact that she hadn’t had her husband with her for nearly a year.

    Conner didn’t see any sign of her son. “So . . . how is Owen these days?”

    “Oh, he keeps himself busy around the place,” Mrs. Bristol said as she slathered mayonnaise onto slices of bread at the table. “I think he went to have his van worked on. I am so thankful to have him, though. I couldn’t manage all of this on my own.”

    “Have you thought about selling the farm?” Conner ventured. “I mean what with your hus…”

    She leaned over to give him a dour look though the doorway. “Sell the farm? Felix, this land has been in my family for four generations. I am not going to sell it off. That you can be sure of.”

    Just as she finished making lunch, Conner heard a vehicle pull up outside. He glanced out the window to see a black Ford cargo van rolling up the driveway. Conner could hear music blaring over the rumble of the engine. Some kind of thrash metal song with someone screaming lyrics in a shrill tone.

    “Ah,” Mrs. Bristol said, “there’s Owen now.”

    Conner could see part of the van through the curtains in the living room. There was a ladder mounted on the roof and a logo on the side. The door opened and someone climbed out. Someone big.

    Conner could only see the back of Owen Bristol as he walked from the van to the garage. Wide shoulders, a gray sweatshirt smudged with grease, faded jeans, and black work boots. Dark hair draped down his back in a loose ponytail.

    A minute later, Conner heard steps on the porch and the screen door opened. Owen seemed to fill the entire doorway. Barrel-chested and thick-limbed, he didn’t appear to have gotten his size from working out, but rather from pure genetics. Just the type of person who had been born big. He wore black sunglasses and a backward-facing baseball cap. Several strands of his long dark hair hung in his face, and his jaw was covered with a few days’ worth of stubble.

    Conner recalled Mrs. Bristol saying they had visited thirty years ago when Owen was two. Thirty-two? The guy’s pockmarked face and beard made him look older. A lot older. That must’ve been a rough thirty-two years.

    Mrs. Bristol was busy explaining to Owen that Felix Grady was here from Minneapolis. She had to go through a bit of history to get Owen to even recognize the name. Owen took off his sunglasses and stared at Conner with deep-set brown eyes. They were dark and very intense but slightly crossed, arousing even more uneasy feelings in Conner. As if Owen wasn’t looking directly at him. But through him.