Rich and his demo car left the suburbs of Wilkes-Barre and headed into the mountains and forests surrounding the valley. The high beam headlights cut through the pitch-black night revealing lonely, boring black top and monotonous double yellow lines encased in walls of featureless woodlands.
Sporadic flashes of light danced behind the clouds overhead. Rich guessed the flashes to be the summer phenomena known as ‘heat lighting.’ Those distant and dull flickers lacked the power to brighten the countryside and served only to heighten a feeling of isolation.
The glow of the gauges reflected off Rich’s tired eyes. The digital clock on the stereo showed 12:30 a.m.
With nothing but trees, hills, and the occasional stream to serve as landmarks most travelers would find the area a bland, confusing maze. To Richard Stone-a life long resident of the "Back Mountain" section of the Wyoming Valley in Pennsylvania-those roads traveled familiar ground. Over the years, he had crisscrossed those roads and the surrounding wilderness on dirt bikes and snowmobiles.
He made his way through almost automatically, concentrating more on watching for suicidal white tail deer than on direction. He could probably drive the route blindfolded.
AM talk radio broadcast from the stereo. The host and his callers fed on the rash of disappearances like frenzied sharks.
"Grant from Brooklyn, you’re on."
"I think the government gots a new ex-pair-mental lazer to keep our population down. We’re using up all da water ‘n stuff, ya know?"
The host responded, "Oh now that’s just beautiful. I guess the Norwegians were overpopulated, too. It’s not a death ray, Grant. I think it’s a bunch of green-skinned Martian-types snatching up specimens for their zoo. I’d even believe our last caller more than you, the one who thinks it’s judgment day and God is just taking his time."
Richard turned off the radio. He had heard nothing other than theories and conspiracies and biblical references since leaving Ashley’s couch.
Enough.
Instead of the radio, Richard selected the CD changer on the stereo. The soothing tone of Patsy Cline’s Walking After Midnight eased through the cabin and filled Richard with a hint of calm.
He listened to a series of her greatest hits, songs his mother and father had introduced to him years ago. Songs that had filled the cabin of their family car during long Thanksgiving trips to Granny’s house across state near Pittsburgh: five hours of Patsy Cline, young Elvis, and Buddy Holly.
What might sound an eclectic cross section of artists to some all held the same place in Richard’s mind. The music conjured more than simple images; it conjured feelings of affection and warmth. The songs served as a reminder of his connection to his family. A reminder of the memories and experiences they shared. He could nearly smell fresh-baked pumpkin pie drifting in the melody.
By the time Patsy finished Sweet Dreams, that monotonous blacktop weaving through those featureless forests arrived at his driveway.
Richard steered on to the partially hidden path cut through those thick forests. The tires of the sedan rumbled over the gravel drive as it ascended a soft slope until reaching the clearing surrounding his family’s cedar home.
A simple two-car garage sat perpendicular to the house. A solitary bulb hung between the bay doors and carved a globe of bright out of the otherwise dark lot. Another light joined the first when the motion of his car activated a security spotlight atop the front porch.
He guided the Malibu to a quiet stop at the foot of the steps behind the Blazer belonging to his dad.
His father’s career had changed from truck driver to well-paid mid-level manager five years ago. That had been ten years after founding a private trucking company. A larger conglomerate had bought the small-but-growing company. Dad’s reward had not only been a lump of cash but a desk job with good pay and hours to make a banker envious.
Mom worked part time at the Arthritis Foundation for charity, not income. She made it home by six every night No doubt her Miata rested safely inside the closed garage next to dad’s partially assembled classic Mustang.
Rich swung open the car door, stood, and shivered. The late June night had felt warm when leaving Ashley’s but out there-in the "boonies"-the thermometer read lower.
The heavy thud of the car door closing echoed across the night, possibly the first artificial sound in hours. He took two steps toward the wide, sweeping porch. The stone and dirt mix of the clearing crunched underfoot. Another shimmer of ‘heat lightning’ flickered through the heavens.
He heard a noise. Not quite the noise of thunder, but similar, and it came from the forest. Something out there moved, barely beyond the reach of the homestead’s lights.
Something big. Something gigantic.
Rich’s brain struggled to decode what he saw: a mass of black nearly as tall as the oldest Oak on their property and lurking behind the first rows of trees in the forest.
That slightly chilled June breeze blew through him like a sharp arctic gale. That familiar forest twisted into a strange, warped place.
Most of it remained hidden beyond the screen of trees. He glimpsed only a tiny fraction of the whole. What he saw made no sense: a black, scaly wall.
A feeling of insignificance fell over him with tremendous weight, so much so that his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. Fear kept him in place, out-dueling an impulse to seek a hiding spot. He had become a puny ant in the shadow of a massive elephant, thankfully small enough not to warrant attention.
The intruder grunted a noise-maybe an exhale-low enough to tremble the ground, followed by a muffled crunch as unseen weight stomped on the forest floor. A vibrant crack told of a snapping tree limb. The wall of black faded away with not nearly enough noise to accommodate such mass.
When he finally drew breath again, fear grabbed him by the spine and sent a violent shake from the top of his head to the toes of his feet. Air gasped from his lungs as he vomited oxygen. His legs wobbled.
Richard stumbled backward, unable to pull his eyes from the forest. His feet struck the bottom steps and found footing. Up…up then across the landing. He fumbled the door open and staggered in, still walking backwards; still with his eyes locked on the spot where a living wall of black had touched his reality.
He closed the door, locked it tight, and turned.
Two low, bushy shadows raced into the living room.
Dick gasped in fright…then lowered his head in embarrassment.
The black and gray Norwegian Elkhounds hurried past their best friend and hopped onto the sofa under the bay windows. 'Tyr' and 'Odin' focused their attention on the same stretch of woodland that had served a sight of horrors to Richard.
Nothing outside moved.
After a few moments, Tyr fixed his eyes on his Master. The question in the dog’s expression came across so clear that Rich could have sworn the animal spoke.
What was it?
"I don’t know what it was," Richard replied then grinned to himself for answering an unvoiced question. "But tomorrow morning I’m going to tell myself it was the wind or it was a bear or my over active imagination. But it wasn’t any of those, was it? Because you two heard it and smelled it, didn’t you?"
A clear answer formed in the dog’s expression.
Yes.
– Rich woke early even though he did not need to be at work again until Saturday. Mr. Munroe would have to manage for a day by himself.
He swung his naked legs out from under the cozy comforter, covered his briefs with sweat pants and found a loose-fitting navy-blue T-shirt. He left his small room for the second floor hall then descended the rear stairs to the eat-in kitchen. There he found his father and mother acting out their morning routines.
"What are you doing up?"
The question came from his mother. She wore a big, comfy white robe that dragged across the linoleum floor as she ferried a coffeepot between the counter top and mugs on the table. The fragrance of that fresh-brewed java mixed with the lingering aroma of a toasted bagel to fill the room with a rich, welcoming scent.
His dad asked without pulling his attention from the newspaper, "Not workin' today?"
"No, no."
A yawn distorted Rich’s answer as he shuffled across the kitchen.
"Bagel?" Mom, who prepped her own with cream cheese, offered.
After politely waving her off, he sat across from his father and spied the headline on the newspaper in his dad’s hands: CLOSE TO HOME.
"Strange stuff, huh?"
"Uh-huh," dad mumbled.
"George, your son is trying to talk to you," mom said as she placed her bagel on the table.
"Oh, yes, sorry."
Dad closed the newspaper, scratched his curly brown hair-something he did when perplexed-and clasped his hands atop the table.
"So, how’s the planning coming? Is Miss Ashley’s perfect day coming along as perfectly as could possibly be planned?"
The smile he flashed assured the sarcasm was not mean spirited. Nonetheless, George earned a light slap on his shoulder from the misses.
"That’s not nice," Kelly Stone said. "It’s a big day."
"Oh yes, I know," George reached over, grabbed his wife’s arm, and playfully spun the slender women onto his lap with a laugh. "You were the biggest little princess of them all. The dresses, the centerpieces, even the way you wanted your bridesmaids to carry their flowers. You were absolutely obsessive."
"Well, I," George cut her off by kissing her cheek. Mom blushed and scurried to her chair.
"Actually, this isn’t about the wedding."
No more smiles.
"Last night, when I came home…I don’t know…maybe I’ve got an imagination…"
"What is it, dear?"
"So what was it you imagined?"
"Look, no laughing, okay? When I got home last night, I saw something moving out in the woods across from the front porch. I don’t know what it was, but it was huge. I mean, really friggin’ big."
"So how ‘friggin’ big’ was it?" George took the obvious line but failed to lighten his son’s mood.
"Dad, I mean, you know I’ve been out there and seen bear and deer and everything else, right?"
"Richard Stone," his dad forced the issue. "Tell me what you saw."
The young man swallowed hard.
"I don’t know what it was. I didn’t see all of it. But it was gigantic, like bigger than an elephant or something. Bigger than the house. But I could only see its side-it was like a big black wall of something moving."
They did not respond.
Richard conceded, "Maybe it was a bear."
His father tapped the newspaper. "There’s a lot of strange things going on right now, and some of it is getting close to home."
"The dogs," Kelly Stone stared at her cream cheese-covered bagel as if hesitant to confess a sin. "I let them out the back door this morning but as soon as they were outside they ran around the front. So I walked to the living room to see. I figured maybe someone was out there. They ran straight across the lot and over to the woods. Right where you would’ve been looking, I’ll bet."
George Stone leaned in his chair and twisted his facial expressions back and forth as if in deep thought.
Rich begged for information, "So? So what the hell is going on?" They were, of course, his parents and no matter how old he would ever get they would know the answers to these types of questions… right?
Mom silently bit into her cream cheese bagel. Dad scratched his curly brown hair.
– Dante Jones drank the last gulp of beer from a frosted mug.
"Are you going to have another?" Rich, who had emptied his own mug a minute before, asked.
Dante did not answer immediately. His attention lay with the big screen TV behind the horseshoe shaped bar. Geraldo Rivera reported from somewhere in the Middle East, but that is not what held Dante’s eyes. He followed the constant crawl of headlines as they rolled endlessly along the bottom of the screen.
…PRESIDENT TO ADDRESS NATION AT 4 PM EST…MAJOR LEAGUE BASEBALL SUSPENDS ALL GAMES UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE…FAMILY MEMBERS OF CUBS FANS SWARM WRIGLEY FIELD…
"Yeah," Dante finally answered, embracing the idea of another beer. "Damn straight, man."
"What is this? Is this the end of the world?"
Dante said, "No. Might be the beginning of the end."
"Whaddya mean?"
Rich knew Dante had a flare for the dramatic. Just as important, when it came to their relationship Dante was the one in charge, the one with the answers. Good friends, sure, but Dante played the lead role of Starsky, or Crockett, or Ponch. Rich had to be content as Hutch, Tubbs, or John.
"If this was the end, it’d be over by now. This might be the start, though, you know? Like, before long, we’ll see where this is going."
…WITNESSES AT DISNEY WORLD CLAIM PARK ATTENDANT WAS ATTACKED BY A TEN-FOOT TALL 'DINOSAUR CREATURE'…ORLANDO AUTHORITIES DISMISS EYE WITNESS ACCOUNTS AS HYSTERIA AND SUGGEST AN ALLIGATOR WAS RESPONSIBLE…
Dante waved to the bar waitress who approached the table with her head slung low and hints of water in her eyes. Everyone in the restaurant and on the streets shared her solemn disposition, a disposition deepening with each new story of a mass disappearance or strange sighting. Twenty-four hours prior, those stories were oddities but they now rolled in from the media with increasing frequency.
Dante asked her, "Hey, you okay?"
She sniffled, nodded, and guessed they wanted, "Two more?"
"Yeah…please," Richard dared answer for them both.
"And keep them coming," Dante added.
She walked away between rows of crowded tables, her head still low.
…BRITISH GOVERNMENT DENIES THAT SECURITY AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE WAS BREACHED BY A ‘MONSTER’ LAST NIGHT AS REPORTED BY A MEMBER OF THE PALACE’S SERVICE STAFF… NATIONAL CONSTITUTION MUSEUM IN PHILADELPHIA REMAINS CLOSED AFTER INCIDENT YESTERDAY INVOLVING A WILD ‘ANIMAL’ THAT KILLED SEVERAL PEOPLE INCLUDING TWO POLICE OFFICERS…
Richard pondered, "First the disappearances, now people seeing things."
"People? You mean people like you?"
"I guess so."
"Watch your back. When things start going bad, it’s not just the weird stuff you got to worry about, you know?"
Rich did not know.
Dante explained, "Other people, man. Did you ever stop to think about what would happen if there weren’t any cops on the streets? What happens when people start turning on their televisions and get nothing but static? You think it’s bad when we’re getting all the news? Think about what’s going to happen when people don’t get any of it; when all they get is dead air."
"You think it’s going to come to that?"
"Man, I’ll tell you what I would do if I were you," Dante leaned forward. "I’d go and get your honey and find somewhere to lay low for a couple of days to see where all this is heading."
Richard shook his head.
"I can’t do that. I’ve got work tomorrow. I’ve got things I got to do."
"Work? Are you kidding me? Work? The world is falling apart and you’re going to sell cars?"
"Dante, it’s my job. Are you walking away from your job? What if all this blows over?"
Jones threw his hands up in exasperation.
"Have you been watching the news?"
…SECRETARY OF STATE URGES AMERICANS TO CANCEL OVERSEAS TRAVEL PLANS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE…NYSE HALTS TRADING AFTER RECORD DROP IN THE SIX MINUTES FOLLOWING THE REPORTED MASS DISAPPEARANCE AT WRIGLEY FIELD…
"I hear it. I’m scared. But I’ve got a wedding coming up."
"Man, you better start changing the way you think," Dante warned.
Rich said, "I’m trying to deal with reality here. And the reality is that I’ve got responsibilities and bills."
Dante grinned and shook his head in a familiar manner; a manner suggesting he heard words so moronic he could only laugh.
"I think we’re about to find out that our cars and our big cities and our complicated tax code and must-see TV is all a fantasy. I think reality is coming right at us. I don’t think we’re going to like it."
– Ashley paced from one end of the porch to the other, weaving between the wicker chair and glider. She barely noticed Dick’s Malibu as it stopped in front of the house.
Rich jogged to the stairs then hopped on to the porch in two bounds. Ashley paced over to him, threw her arms around her future husband and buried her head into his chest.
"Tell me it’s going to be okay."
Rich’s mouth opened and wavered.
A late afternoon breeze punctuated his silence, blowing lazily across the porch. Sounds rode the wind: horns and rumbling traffic, music from car stereos and shouts across playgrounds. All those sounds had traveled far to find their ears. Ashley’s neighborhood seemed an isolated enclave separate from the rest of the world. Rich imagined the porch a theater and those distant noises playing on a back stage phonograph.
She pleaded, "Tell me this is all one big bad dream and that everything will be all right and the wedding will go on like we planned."
Rich shook away thoughts of theaters and phony soundtracks to focus on reality. Yes, reality, no matter what Dante said. He pulled her away from his chest to search her eyes. He found more red than green.
"Everything will be fine. Our wedding is going to be perfect. Your cousins aren’t going to fight and your dad is going to dance with you at the reception. It’s going to be beautiful and you’re going to be the most beautiful bride, ever. Period."
Ashley sobbed softly.
"All…those…people…"
The front door creaked as it swung open. Rich nodded a polite hello to Mr. Trump.
"Well that about does it," Ashley’s dad informed. "The President says not to panic so I sure ain’t panicking."
"What else did he say?"
"All military leave has been cancelled and the President is on his way to a ‘secure’ location-probably Cheyenne Mountain I expect. He's upped the alert status of all military forces and slapped price freezes on gasoline and food."
Rich sneered, "Glad to see no one is panicking."
"Gotta take precautions ‘course."
"Of course…" Stone chewed on an idea. "Ashley, why don’t you get some things together and come stay at my parents’ house? Out there, away from town, might be a little safer, you know?"
She pulled away and gaped at him.
"You can stay in one of the guest rooms. Your parents could come, too, there’s plenty of room."
"No, Sir," Benjamin Trump left no room for misunderstanding. "My home is my castle. You’ll understand that when you have your own home someday."
Richard felt a vibration in his front pocket from his cell phone.
"Dad’s right," Ashley agreed because her dad’s presence allowed nothing else. "I’ll stay here. It wouldn’t be right-so close to our wedding day-to be sleeping under the same roof."
"I can take care of my family, young man," Trump insisted.
The vibration of his phone changed to an annoying loud buzz.
Rich tried, "Don’t you think-"
"It’s about standing your ground. About doing the right thing."
Richard tried to ignore his phone but both Benjamin and Ashley glared, as if asking, well are you going to answer that?
Dick reluctantly opened his flip phone.
"Hello…hey. Hi, Lori…"
Ashley grunted. Of course, Lori-an old friend of Dick’s-would interrupt their important conversation.
"He what? When? You’re kidding me. I’ll be there in twenty minutes; I’m at Ashley’s right now. Okay. Bye."
Richard closed his phone and explained, "I’ve got to go. Jon just-"
Ashley waived her hand dismissing his explanation. "Go ahead if you have to. I don’t care." She turned fast and stomped inside.
"She’s upset," Benjamin Trump stated the obvious. "I’ll calm her down. You go take care of whatever is more important right now."
Rich nodded, skipped down the front stairs, then stopped. He swiveled about and addressed his future father-in-law.
"One thing I’ve always wanted to ask you, Mr. Trump."
"What’s that, Dick?"
"The fourth biggest fence company in the county, right?"
Trump smirked smugly and nodded.
Dick questioned, "So why didn’t you ever build a fence around your own home?"
– Jon and Lori Brewer lived in the same ‘boonies’ the Stones called home, albeit along a different path through those non-distinct country roads.
The front of their home faced the snaking pavement of a rural route while the tall grass and rampant wild flowers of their back yard bordered thick wilderness. The quaint old cottage home oozed country charm as thick as molasses with potted plants and wind chimes dangling from the covered stoop.
Rich’s tires raised dust as he pulled into the small patch of dirt that served as both the Brewers’ driveway. He parked next to their white Explorer. Dick suspected Jon had purposely chosen a Ford over a Chevy, just for spite.
He rapped on the front door then walked inside without waiting for an invitation: knocking served merely a ceremonial purpose to the Brewers.
Lori paced with her arms crossed moving in and out of the early evening sunbeams streaming through the kitchen window. Rich gave her credit for not smoking a cigarette. His friend had kicked the habit a year ago but that day’s stress made a relapse understandable, maybe even expected.
Still, he should know better than to doubt her willpower. If she decided to stop smoking, then she would stop smoking. Of course, if she decided to give you a piece of her mind, you got it full bore. The word ‘subtle’ had no listing in Lori Brewer’s personal lexicon. Often times that attitude rubbed folks the wrong way. Occasionally she did so purposely to illicit a reaction. Probably not the best trait for a counselor.
Or was it?
Lori swiveled her head in his direction, rustling her shoulder-length brown hair.
"Oh great, well you got here in time to say good bye."
"I came as fast as I could."
Lori coated her words in frost as she said, "I’m sure the little princess was happy to see you come running over here."
"Whoa. Slow down. What's going on? You said Jon is getting called up? I thought he just got back from drills."
Jon Brewer-crew cut in place-marched across the adjacent living room. He heard their conversation easily.
"This isn't a drill," Jon told them both without looking as he searched behind the sofa. "In an emergency like this they can call us up real fast."
Stone recognized the stiff lip and wide eyes on Lori’s face, a combination of anger and disgust. He had seen the expression many times stretching all the way back to elementary school. She reserved the expression almost exclusively for her husband or parents although Rich had been on the receiving end on occasion, usually in regards to Ashley.
Lori’s next words explained her frustration.
"But you haven’t been called up yet, have you?"
Jon, hopping as he jammed a heavy work shoe on his left foot, peeked through the archway into the kitchen.
"I told you, my cousin heard the Governor has already made the decision to issue a full call-up. I might as well bug out instead of waiting around for the phone call, right?"
That, Rich knew, typified Jon Brewer: No waiting for things to happen; he lived by the doctrine of preemption.
Jon's cousin had been the subject of many late night beer-spiced conversations. That cousin worked as a civilian contractor in the Pentagon. Jon knew his direct line.
Richard asked, "Where are you going? Indiantown Gap?"
"Yes," Jon answered as he went searching for the second shoe.
"When do you leave?" Rich drifted to the archway between the kitchen and the living room where he watched Jon toss couch cushions.
Lori answered for him, "He doesn’t have to leave at all!"
"I’m going right away. I want to get down there to help organize the call-ups."
Jon found his other shoe and hopped again.
"That’s my hero," Lori spiked her words with sarcastic venom.
"Wait a second." Rich sensed a hidden motivation in Jon’s urgency. His question eased out slow with suspicion dripping from every syllable, "What did your cousin tell you?"
"Just keep watching the news," Jon said as he finished the second shoe.
Anger broiled inside Richard at the tease.
"What? What is going to be on the news?"
Jon-who at nearly six-nine stood almost a foot taller than Richard-came to the kitchen and hovered over his wife’s friend.
"West Point-poof! The Citadel-poof!"
"What?"
Lori cut in, "Everyone at West Point and the Citadel vanished two hours ago."
Jon clarified in forced flippancy, "Abracadabra! Just like I-80; just like Wrigley field. Poof."
Mr. Brewer watched with mild amusement as Richard digested that revelation.
Lori said, "So my soldier-boy-husband figures he needs to get a jump on the call up orders that his cousin tells him are coming. What if those orders don’t come?"
Jon ignored her.
Richard, in a daze, asked, "What does your cousin say about all this?"
The national guardsman savored his role as expert.
"It’s a military strike."
"What makes you say that?"
Jon rolled his eyes at the newbie.
"West Point and The Citadel? Military schools. The teachers are some of the smartest fighting guys on the globe. Not to mention the students and cadets. We’re only lucky that it’s summer recess and there were a lot less people on campus."
"No, no," Richard did not buy it. "Just a coincidence. Norwegians, baseball fans, and traffic on a highway have no military value."
Jon threw an arm around Richard and walked the two of them toward his wife.
"This is how they got it figured. It’s like artillery. First, you fire a round and see how close you come to the target. Then you walk-in your fire, probably from spotters. Something like that."
Richard deduced, "They figure all those people are dead?"
"Wow, yeah, vaporized. Some sort of weapon that fried their bodies. They took out a bunch of civvies along the way until they finally found their range. Now they’ll start zeroing in on important things, like bases and stuff."
Lori Brewer’s words carried more venom as she said, "And my idiot husband is driving down to the Gap to be a part of a big military group. Nice target."
Jon frowned.
"Someone has to be ready to fight. Sooner or later, they’re going to stick their heads up. That’s when we’ll pay them back."
Richard asked the obvious question: "Who?"
Jon normally offered an answer for everything. He could take wild ass guesses and make them sound reasoned and logical.
This time, Jon Brewer had no answer at all.