Richard sat for an hour in Ashley’s vacant bedroom.
Hideous beasts crawling the streets…authorities powerless to stop the onslaught…human beings killed before his eyes…his fiancee vaporized by what Jon had characterized as 'alien artillery.' It all warped and spun together in a vortex of confusion within his mind.
He had never faced death before. Now he had witnessed more people dying and more dead bodies than he could count, all in the span of an hour or so.
Just days ago it had all been a joke in the tabloids, then an oddity on the nightly news. Now it was reality. His reality.
It left Richard dazed and confused, sad and scared.
The cry of distant sirens slipped in through the closed windows. He felt the occasional tremble and saw periodic flashes outside the window that warned of something else exploding, burning or otherwise adding to the anarchy.
A single sound-the pop of a faraway gunshot echoing at the right moment between all the other sounds-finally focused his attention.
Rich Stone stumbled to the first floor and into the living room. The television broadcast a cable news network. A waver on the edge of the anchorwoman’s lips suggested she could burst out laughing or break down crying at any moment.
"Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, Houston, and Washington D.C., are all in a state of chaos. Here-New York City-is in the same condition. We can hear gunfire outside our studio and people who work in this building have reported seeing…seeing a wide variety of…of… animals…or beasts…or even monsters. I suppose we should call them what they appear to be."
Rich sunk into the couch, the couch where he had made love to Ashley several times that week.
"We had a report an hour ago of fighter jets shooting down an unidentified flying object over Phoenix. Furthermore, we have accessed satellite uplinks from several affiliate stations across the country, mainly video feeds showing the same thing nationwide: street battles between police officers and armed citizens with whatever these invading creatures are. It should be noted that the variety of these…these…things is…well there seems to be a lot of different kinds of things involved in this…this…whatever this is."
Richard felt sorry for the woman. She chronicled the disintegration of society to viewers around the world in words that sounded ridiculous and unworthy of national news.
"Our station chiefs in London, Paris, Moscow and Beijing report the same type of mass pandemonium. Yet still no idea as to what is actually happening, why, or what types of precautions should be taken. Umm… precautions? Who’s writing this shit?"
He turned the television off as the flustered anchorwoman ran a hand through her hair.
– The community surrounding the Trump’s modular home remained undisturbed but the panicked car horns, the cries for help, and the plumes of smoke in the beautiful late morning sky drew closer.
Rich drove to the Cross Valley Expressway unmolested and headed west, putting more distance between himself and Wilkes-Barre.
The highway snaked through a rock cut in the western valley wall emerging in the rural area nicknamed the "Back Mountain." At that point, the expressway morphed into a two-lane rural route passing islands of development among a sea of rolling green mountains.
He left the main path at the first opportunity for the hidden country roads he knew so well. The car radio offered more-not better-information.
"This is a new development. Can we get confirmation of this? Is this another prank?"
A female voice joined the male newscaster.
"It’s confirmed. That came over from Atlanta City Hall five minutes ago."
The man said, "Okay, well, then, um, it seems a group has provided a communique to the Mayor of Atlanta demanding…"
"Maybe you should just read it."
"Yes, yes of course," the man cleared his throat. "It says, ’the leader of the humans of Atlanta is now demanded to surrender to the Grand Army of the Hivvan Republic. All humans will report to processing centers."
The newsman paused and admitted, "I’m not sure if I’m pronouncing ‘Hivvan’ correctly."
Rich steered the Chevy around a sweeping turn. Overhead the sun glinted through the plush treetops casting alternating bands of light and dark across the car.
The woman said, "This is the third report we’ve heard of organizations or groups being a part of…of…all this. The first came an hour ago when an AP wire story from Hartford referred to a column of unidentified soldiers wearing strange uniforms and riding in transports that hovered above the ground. We were not able to confirm that report. Of course, confirming reports has been difficult since many of our correspondents are dead, missing, or in hiding."
The man added, "There have been scattered accounts of well-planned assaults on police barracks and government buildings by organized forces armed with a variety of weapons. One eye witness account from the San Francisco area tells of silver-skinned aliens using over sized insects as if they were attack dogs."
Something big flew overhead but thankfully, paid the Malibu no mind.
To his surprise, Rich nearly missed the turn for his home. He braked hard, squealing the tires as he threw the vehicle into the driveway and then sped along the gravel surface toward his house where he stopped behind his father’s parked SUV. Dick hopped out, started toward the porch…and froze.
Goosebumps erupted all over: the front door lay torn from its hinges. A tremble-a deep, low tremble-vibrated in his bones.
With forced courage, he approached the smashed-open doorway as if it were the jaws of a sleeping monster.
A noise stopped him at the doorframe: a sound of clumsy movement.
Rich dared a step inside where he inhaled a moist smell that hinted of sour fruit.
No lights were on and the sun did not shine in. Even before his pupils expanded to compensate for the dark, Richard sensed something awry.
The walls…blotches on the walls? Did mom repaint the walls?
Movement stole his attention: a shadow in the kitchen at the end of the hall.
Richard experienced an epiphany. He realized he had never been this afraid. Ever. Simple, basic fear for his life. Deep, primal, and complete. It unlocked an entirely new level of consciousness.
To feel the flight instinct screaming run! Run! Run!
To feel the fight instinct muster adrenaline for battle.
Nonetheless, Richard stepped two tentative paces across the front room.
The shadow knocked over clutter in the kitchen. Pots and pans, perhaps?
Dick’s foot squished into something.
On the floor he saw a mess-a big chunky mess-strewn over the carpet his mother installed two years before. She loved how the rich rusty color blended perfectly with the decor.
As his eyes adjusted to the low lighting, the mess took form.
Rugs? Shaggy rolled rugs? What are rugs doing…no…oh no…
Enough recognizable slabs remained to solve the mystery: that mess had been his mother and father.
The walls…they had been repainted. Repainted red.
Air exploded from his lungs, catching the attention of the shadow in the kitchen. A strange silhouette wobbled to the hallway swaying side to side as it lumbered toward the front of the house. A pear shaped body with short legs and even shorter barbed arms, it stood bigger and wider than a man, barely fitting between the walls of the hall.
Richard retreated a step…two steps…
An oversized head dominated the brute and featured one big eye surrounded by small red dots that might also be eyes. Teeth gnashed inside a massive, disjointed jaw. Its heavy legs shuffled on the floor and its wide sides brushed against the walls.
Richard withdrew to the front porch. He stumbled down the stairs and bumped against the side of his car where he stopped and waited. Certainly, the creature would not follow; such nightmares could not survive in the light of day.
Wrong.
The nightmares had been freed from the dark passages. A new world had dawned and that world belonged to the nightmares. Man would now hide in the shadows.
Out to the porch it came. The sun splashed the ugly red and brown body of tough flesh in golden rays. It did not howl in pain. It did not retreat. Birds still chirped; a breeze still blew.
The creature stumbled forward on those two short muscular legs leaning oddly as if maybe Earth's gravity differed from its home environment. It descended toward Richard who stood against his car transfixed.
A creak from the steps snapped Rich from his trance. He moved off in a staggering walk then a fast jog. He ran to the side yard of overgrown, weed-infected grass wedged between the cedar home, the garage, and the thick woods. Two strange objects blocked his flight. He skidded to a stop in the knee-high growth and tried to understand what he saw lying there.
After a moment, he recognized the mounds: two more of the big-headed monsters motionless on the ground, one ripped nastily along its gut and legs where a weird red molasses drained. The second face down, its head torn open.
Stone anxiously wondered what could mutilate two of these monstrosities? He would have an answer shortly.
The living monster wobbled into the side yard in pursuit.
Richard jogged to the rear of the home.
A recently added sunroom extended into the back yard: mom had planned to install a hot tub there next month.
Dad kept the back lawn green and trim. He considered it his job-more a passion-despite how often Rich volunteered to handle the chore.
A wooden play set with swings and a metal sliding board sat atop a bed of wood chips along the edge of the grass. When he had been eleven years old, Rich fell from that sliding board. Or had Dante pushed him?
Exhaustion forced him to stop in search of breath.
Thus far, his plan entailed running around the house, nothing more. He dared not go inside and face the bodies of his parents and he could not think of anywhere else for escape.
The pursuer-the monster with the big round red eye and the gaping jaw-arrived in the rear yard.
Yes, he could run around the house some more, but he decided to give it a good look. He decided to see if this were some man in a mask, some massive prank pulled by Dante Jones and Lori Brewer.
They would all jump out now-Ashley, mom and dad, that lady who had been eaten by the jellyfish thing-they would all jump out and surprise him. The whole world would be fine again.
A surprise did come, yet not what Richard hoped.
Two more animals joined the fray.
Tyr and Odin-the Stones’ stocky black and gray Norwegian Elkhounds-bolted around Richard and closed on the monster. As he watched, Rich realized what had dispatched the other two creatures.
His household pets showed the clever instincts and fast reflexes that had empowered their ancestors to hunt moose and bear alongside the ancient Vikings. Now Rich’s dogs acted clever and fast with a different type of beast.
Tyr demonstrated directly in front of the creature, easily dodging the clumsy flails of the barbed arms and the snaps of the massive maw. Odin circled behind and lunged. The dog’s jaws ripped into the bottom of the leg of the thing. A liquid squirted and the monster howled.
The brute slowly turned to face Odin, only to have its lower body savaged by Tyr, all while Odin took his turn dodging snaps and lunges with barks and yaps.
Richard watched in awe.
In short order, the demon’s shredded legs no longer supported the weight of its oversized skull. It toppled like a dictator’s statue before an angry mob of peasants. Once on its back, the creature was doomed.
Canine jaws worked again and again, pulling and tearing.
Richard cringed as gore spewed from the fallen foe. Its grunts and groans faded. Its jaw stopped gnashing; its legs stopped kicking. Steamy vapors rose from vents torn in its flesh.
Once their work ended, the two dogs trotted to Richard with their heads slightly bowed.
He spoke to himself aloud, "What happened here?"
An answer surged into his mind with uncanny clarity.
Three creatures had come to the house. One smashed the front door and grabbed the mother. The father had grappled with the monster bravely, but to no avail.
Outside at the time, the hounds raced to the rescue but the other two beasts intercepted them. A battle ensued. Tyr and Odin out-maneuvered the things. Alas, by the time they had scored their kills the mother and father were dead.
Not wanting to fight inside the tight confines of the house, the dogs had waited in the woods until hearing their Master return home.
This understanding of what had happened came clear-eerily clear-to Richard’s mind.
He walked around front, sat on the porch steps with his head in his hands, and wondered if Dante still lived out there, somewhere. What about Jon? Was he on the battlefield scoring victories for humanity? What of Lori?
We must leave.
"What? Huh?"
Certain he heard a voice, Richard pulled his head from his hands.
Tyr hovered nearby, standing taut with his ears perked. Odin wandered around the drive further away.
Something coming.
Someone did speak, but had he heard the voice with his ears or his mind?
The ground trembled softly.
Odin trotted fast to the front porch alternating his eyes between Tyr and Richard.
Something coming from road. Big.
Both dogs moved toward the side yard. When Richard did not follow, they paused and gaped. The trees on the far side of the lot swayed. Richard decided to go.
They had barely reached the tree line when it slithered from cover onto the Stones’ property: a crawling mass of tendrils and squirming appendages spilling from a conical carapace that could have been a shell but not quite: more a hard fleshy bag the top of which reached taller than the garage. A putrid smell of acidic rot emanated from the sickly beast.
Tyr and Odin, no matter how resourceful, could not do battle with this new arrival. Fortunately, they and their Master escaped unnoticed.
The canopy of eastern mixed forest blocked much of the sun and trapped chilled damp air beneath. Low hanging limbs and tall brush scraped against Rich’s face and shoulders, cutting and bruising his arms and cheeks as he hurried through the woods. Tyr and Odin bound along effortless on his flanks.
Other things lived in the forest.
Out the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a hulk of black lumbering along as its train-sized mass pushed through the dense woodland. It either did not see or did not care about him.
Richard stopped to catch his breath against a Maple, only to be scared off by a slothy creature hanging high in the tree gorging on leaves.
He saw a pack of leather-skinned frogs the size of pigs hopping together and a trio of animals that could have been deer, save for glowing red eyes and long slender horns.
Howls of both earthly animals and unearthly trespassers reverberated through the woods, sources unseen. Birds and more fluttered and flew amongst the branches.
The deeper they went the fewer sounds and sights haunted. No doubt, the worst of the new predators favored the prey-filled streets of the cities more than the lonely forest.
Rich and his companions tore through that forest aiming for no particular destination. Soon his legs grew weak and his run turned to a stagger until he fell face-first into a pile of wet, mushy leaves.
He rolled onto his back and stared skyward. A flicker of afternoon sun pushed through the crowded trees.
Tears came…tears and pain.
The small cuts on his arms stung; the fatigue in his body throbbed like a headache stretched to his toes; and his thoughts scattered to pieces.
Both dogs waited patiently with their eyes and ears tuned to the wilderness.
He closed his eyes and saw the empty wedding dress and his dead parents; he heard the thump of the massive foot crushing Bobby Weston.
Overload.
Richard blacked out.
– A cold shiver shocked his eyes open.
Sunlight still slipped through the treetops, but now at a steeper, later angle.
Rich sat. Every part of his body hurt, from the muscles of his legs to the knuckles in his fingers. The impromptu nap atop cold, damp leaves had aggravated his fatigue.
Birds chattered and the clap of a far-off explosion rode the wind in from civilization.
Look at this.
"What?"
A newcomer joined their gathering. That newcomer wore a coat of pure white with deep amber eyes.
A wolf.
As far as Rich knew, no wolves had lived in Pennsylvania for at least fifty years, maybe much longer.
Surprisingly, neither Tyr nor Odin acted concerned as the wolf stared at the three fugitives from a few paces away. However, Stone’s awakening triggered a reaction. The animal turned and trotted off at a brisk pace.
Follow.
Acting on some intangible impulse, Rich followed the white wolf through the overgrowth on a thin game trail.
After several minutes, the wolf hopped between two Oaks and descended an embankment leading them to a rocky, dry streambed bordered on one end by a large fallen tree. The wolf stopped on the far side.
A campfire glowed in the middle of the gully. An old man sat by that fire on a slab of red rock, dressed in a plain white shirt with a black vest and faded jeans. He wore gray stubble on pale, wrinkled cheeks with messy thin hair on top. His sunken dark eyes admired the fire while his mouth worked gently as if chewing a pinch of tobacco or maybe sunflower seeds.
Richard stopped at the embankment. A wave of heat from the flames drifted by, dispelling any notion of an exhaustion-fueled mirage.
Tyr and Odin casually descended the bank and rested on either side of the blaze. They relaxed their guard, as if sensing safety within the fire's perimeter.
Rich nearly fell over a protruding root as he skidded the slope. He barely managed to keep his balance as he moved to the fire and stood, waiting, unsure of what to do next.
"It’s ‘bout time you got here," the Old Man spoke in a gruff voice. "Started to think you might not make it. Started to think this was gunna be over ‘fore it got started. Now wouldn’t that be a damn shame?"
Dick crinkled his eyes.
"Don’t just stand there and gawk. Sit by the fire ‘fore you catch new-moan-ya."
Richard spotted another chunk of red rock across from the old timer and sat. His achy bones and clammy skin appreciated the warmth.
"Who are you? Do you know me?"
"Okay, see, now this is the first thing we have to get straight," the Old Man fixed his eyes on Richard. "You don’t get to ask questions, see? That’s not how this works."
"What do you mean? How what works?"
"Oh now, c’mon, this ain’t startin’ off so good. You ain't listening."
Richard opened his mouth. The Old Man glared. Richard closed his mouth.
"Better. A start. Let’s get this out of the way right now; do you want to live?"
"Huh?"
"I asked you a question. You answer it. That’s another thing we got to get straight. The question is do you want to live? Now that would usually be a stupid question, wouldn’t it? But today you lost just about everything you had. You been seein’ people gettin’ crushed and killed and whatnot. There lotsa folk slittin’ their wrists or suckin’ the business end of a thirty-eight and callin’ it a day. What ‘bout you? You want to live?"
Richard considered the question. Ashley…his parents…all gone. His world of ESPN, talk radio, and DVD rentals had sailed away into the category of ‘the good old days, long forgotten, rest in peace.’
A new world had been born. An unpleasant new world.
Yet…something inside kept him from going quietly into the night. Yes, he wanted to live. Desperately. He just could not think of a good reason why.
"I want to live."
"Good, figured but thought I should ask. That’s the polite thing to do, right? So, okay then, good. Let’s move on. Here’s the deal. It’s not a good one, but it’s the way things are. I won’t go apologizin’ for it 'cause I didn't make up all the rules. So that’s the first thing you need to know: there are rules."
"Rules?" Dick interrupted. "Rules for what? What are you talking about? Don’t tell me not to ask questions. Screw you! Who the hell are you?"
The Old Man smiled.
"All right. That’s not bad. You got some fight in you. But you need to save that for your enemies. Oh man, you’ve got a lot of enemies, too. And they are-what do they say these days? — they are bringing it. Shit yeah. Me? I’m on your side. Sort of, I ‘spose. By the time this is all over you sure as hell won’t be callin’ me buddy but right now I’m about the closest thing to a friend you’re gunna have from here on out.
"You see, Trevor, I’m gunna help you to live. That’s what I’m gunna do. Help. But that’s it. It ain’t gunna be fun. It’s gunna be lonely and nothin’ but runnin’ and hidin’ then fightin’ and killin’."
Rich noted the man had used his middle name but that was not the first question on his mind.
"Me? What do you want with me? I don’t know anything about what you’re saying…" Rich let his head fall into his hands. The tears swelled again.
The Old Man pushed onward.
"Here’s the deal, Trevor. You’ve got a role to play. You got a job to do. It’s all ‘bout savin’ mankind. The weight of the world is a comin’ down and it’s a comin’ down on your shoulders."
He pulled his dirty and bloody face from his hands. Salty water pooled in his eyes and he gawked at the Old Man incredulously.
"What? Saving mankind? Me? Is this some kind of bad joke? Who the hell are you anyway? Some old fool out in the forest-"
"Now, no, see, that’s not good. I told you, there are rules. I’m not here to be answerin’ your questions. I’m here to help you walk a path. In some ways, you already have walked it. I’m not even here, not really, not the way you think, not right now ‘least," the Old Man’s eyes drifted away, contemplating something complex. "Time is just a man made thing, any-who. Time is irrelevant."
After a moment, his focus returned to Richard.
"Where was we? Oh yeah. Rules. I’ve got ones I got to play by and that’s just the way it is. I can help you, sort of. But you got to do the heavy lifting. It’s a raw deal for you, really it is, but this isn’t about you. It’s about savin' the human race."
Rich said, "The whole human race? What? I’m some sort of savior?"
The words sounded uncomfortable to Rich and hilarious to the Old Man.
"Savior? Savior? Oh, now that just takes the cake, now don’t it? He thinks he’s a savior. My-oh-my for a fella who’s already pissed his pants, stinks like a dog that just rolled in shit, and has spent all day runnin' like a scared rabbit from everything that said ‘boo’ you sure got a high horse you’re ridin’. Savior… ha!"
Richard cast his eyes to the ground, embarrassed.
"You’re a link in a chain, Trevor. The chain ain’t no good if a piece gets broke. The chain is only as strong as its weakest link, right? Well you’re a link in a chain. A damn important chain, but just a link."
"Whatever." It all seemed a joke or a hallucination. "This is your game. Whatever."
"No game! You listen to me ‘cause you and I don’t need to be wastin’ words. I’m gunna push you in the right direction but you got to do the work. And if you do it right maybe- maybe, mind you-your species ain’t gunna go the way of the Dodo bird. You do it wrong and everything is over. All of it. Hit the lights, party’s over. Are we communicating?"
Rich begged to know, "Are you…are you God?"
After all he had witnessed, run from, and barely escaped that day, it seemed a fair question.
The Old Man’s amusement at the idea nearly matched his amusement at the whole Dick-as-a-savior suggestion.
"God? What do you know ‘bout that? Probably know as much as I do ‘bout that, I ‘spect. Still and all, you need to stop worryin’ ‘bout stuff like that ‘cause it don’t matter none right now. I’ll tell you what matters. Three things matter."
"Three things?"
"Three things you got to do from now on. It’s your role. It’s your link in the chain, Trevor. First, you got to survive."
"Survive?"
"That’s right. Survive. I’m gunna help you with that. Keep your pants on. The second thing you got to do is when the time is right you got to fight. Balls-to-the-wall no-holds-barred. I’m talking Ali verse Fraiser, Auburn against ‘Bama. Fight. You hearin’ me?"
Rich nodded absently.
"And the third thing?"
"The third thing…" the Old Man considered his words."The third thing is the hardest. Like I told ‘ya, this is a bum deal. But it’s the price you pay for being a link on this chain."
Stone asked again, "The third thing?"
"Sacrifice. Things ain’t gunna be easy from now on, assumin’ you live long enough to do what you got to do. If you don’t make it then it’s all over. So, you got to survive then you got to fight and you got to sacrifice everything else for the cause. That’s the way it is, Trevor, and it sucks a lot more than you think it’s gunna suck. I can’t see everythin’ and even if I could, I got to play by those rules. But I know the path you’re gunna walk and I know it’s gunna be hard. I’d say I’m sorry but I’m not, ‘cause this ain’t ‘bout you. It’s ‘bout a lot more than you."
Stone examined his bloodied arms and soaking wet clothes. His body trembled continuously and his legs felt so weak he did not think he could stand. He did not know what he was good at but he knew it was not fighting or survival techniques.
On the other hand, he knew fear. He knew he already missed Ashley and his parents. He knew he could break into hysterical crying at any moment. And he knew that everything the Old Man said sounded so crazy that he might be hallucinating after all.
"I’m not your guy. I can’t do any of that."
"Hmmm," said the Old Man as a burst of embers erupted from the fire and drifted away. "Too bad you feel that way. You see, Trevor, you don’t got a choice in this matter. Down inside of you is sometin’ that’s been there since before your daddy and mommy rolled ‘round in the sheets and made you. Part of it is instinct. And you’ve got an instinct for survival. That’s why you made it this far. But I got some good news for you, too. Those rules really do blow moose wad, but I also got some things for you to help out. I got three gifts for you, Trevor. Three gifts that will give you a fightin’ chance; that will give your whole damn race a fightin’ chance."
"Three…gifts?"
"The first one is pretty easy. When we’re done here your gunna head through these woods along the trail and it’ll take you to a big ole’ lakeside estate. Strong iron fence around it. The fella whose been livin’ there-a real Mr. Fancy Pants business guy who made a shitload of money-well about two years ago he went and started getting’ the funniest notions," the Old Man winked.
"He started takin’ his millions and millions of dollars and spendin’ it on all sorts of stuff. All sorts of survival-guy stuff. You’re gunna find shit in that place that would make G. Gordon Liddy pop a hard one. Food, water, medicine stuff, gear for all occasions, a couple of big fuel tanks buried underground to run a couple of big ‘ole generators that power the whole place. Cars and motor bikes and batteries and radios. And man, are you gunna find guns. Most of em’ very illegal."
Guns did not impress Richard and they would do him no good. As his dad had pointed out the night before, he would probably shoot his foot off.
Still, he asked, "What about the man who owns the house? Will he help?"
"God, you and your questions," the Old Man’s voice sounded more amused than annoyed. "Poor bastard had a heart attack two days ago at his office cross town. He won’t be needin’ none of it. No family. Nuttin’ to worry ‘bout. He kept a spare key under the front mat and had a strange notion to go leavin’ the main gate open."
Stone asked, "Another link in the chain?"
The Old Man ignored the question.
"Now, as to the second gift. Well you already got that one but you’re too shell-shocked to know it. When you get to the house that’s when you’ll realize that one. I guess I kind of lied when I said you don’t have no friends no more."
The man chuckled at what must have been an inside joke.
"When you get to the house, go inside. Clean up your self. Grab a bite to eat. You’ll find lotsa coolers runnin’ on the generator stocked with all sorts of good stuff. But pace yourself…its got to last a while."
"The third gift? What is it…food?"
The Old Man leaned forward. His eyes widened. The flames burned hotter.
"When you got a full belly and feelin’ better, you go on down to the basement of that house. You’ll find a gray door stuck in a corner behind a hot water heater. It’s locked."
Rich felt something in his clenched fist. He opened his hand and found a silver key. He fidgeted in surprise at the sight of the key. He had never seen it before. He had not felt the key in his grasp until the Old Man spoke of it.
"Open the door and go down there and get your third gift. Oh and Trevor, the first two gifts you’re gunna have to share. The third gift…that’s only for you. Just you."
A cold breeze reminded Rich he wore wet clothes. His teeth chattered.
The Old Man watched the fire and told Richard Trevor Stone, "Sooner or later, when you get your head ‘bout you, you’re gunna think that you’ve got all this figured out. Your gunna think you know what’s goin' on. But you don’t. This ain’t some sort of straight up alien invasion like those Ed Wood movies. This ain’t simple at all. There’s a lot more goin’ on around here than you can even imagine. A lot more than you need to know. That’s why there’s rules.
"So don’t bother tryin’ to figure it all out. Go and survive, Trevor Stone. Survive whilst the storm blows through. It’ll calm down after a spell. Then you’ll have to start fightin’. And all the time you have to be ready to sacrifice for the good of the ‘cause. I can’t talk much more than that ‘cause of them rules. But understand, you’re probably thinkin’ that sacrifice means takin’ a bullet for someone or belly floppin’ on a grenade in a foxhole. That ain’t it. Sometimes the hardest sacrifice is living. And that’s what you must do. You must go on living."
"I don’t understand."
"Don’t bother tryin’. Now go…get movin’. I can’t protect you. Remember that. And I’m not here like some sort of third lifeline on ‘ Who Wants to be a Millionaire.’ I’ve done for you what I can do. Now you got to get behind that big fence and hope it’s enough to keep you safe for a while. Until you’re ready. Now go."
He staggered to his feet. His body complained with aches.
"I don’t know if I should thank you."
"Shit no, you don’t wanna thank me. Before long, you’re gunna hate me. You’re gunna think this a curse. Just always remember, it ain’t about you."
"Yeah, sure."
"Good luck, Trevor," the Old Man smiled a creepy grin. "You’re gunna need it."
– Sunlight turned to twilight by the time Richard and his escort emerged from the woods and came upon a large lake. Richard recognized the place as Harveys Lake, the biggest natural lake in all of Pennsylvania.
Permanent homes mixed with seasonal summer cottages around the five-mile circumference of Harveys Lake which, when seen from the air, resembled a "T" shape. A perimeter road surrounded the lake.
Usually the lake hosted speedboats and water skiers on late June evenings but tonight no sightseers cruised the road, no boats splashed on the waters; the homes and cottages dark. He heard no sounds save the lap of waves.
Richard recognized his new home immediately. The large estate-surrounded by a tall, black iron fence-sat isolated except for two neighbors: a silent A-frame on one side, a small white church fifty yards in the other direction.
They walked the grassy shoulder between the fence and the road until reaching the open main gate.
A driveway climbed a slight grade toward the east-facing main house through a perfectly manicured lawn dotted with ornamental trees. A six-car garage with apartments on top rested in the northern quadrant of the grounds. Other, smaller buildings hid among the trees on the back half of the lot in the shadow of a mountain.
The house hinted at Victorian roots but without an abundance of gothic flavor and lacking the busy, crowded appearance associated with the Queen Anne phase. Indeed, the style was best characterized by a lack thereof.
Nevertheless, the mansion stood two stories and stretched wide and deep dominating the grounds. The structure’s origin dated at least a hundred years, but it stood proud in immaculate condition. No doubt its ancestry lay with the coal barons and railroad tycoons who had made Harveys Lake their retreat in the days when anthracite mining ruled northeastern Pennsylvania.
Thick round pillars lined the big front porch while a second-floor balcony afforded a king's view of the lake yet he saw very little in the way of decorative flair or aesthetic touches.
While he found his new home quite impressive despite the lack of panache, it held his attention for only a brief moment. A more dramatic sight beckoned as he came to understand the second gift.
They emerged from behind trees, around the corner of the garage, even from the bushes lining the sides of the house.
Rich saw several big black and tan Rottweilers; a couple of intimidating Doberman Pinschers, even two Elkhounds nearly matching Tyr and Odin in color.
Still more came: several German Shepherds; a few Golden Retrievers; a couple of bushy Siberian Huskies; a handful of black and white Border Collies and even more he did not recognize.
These were not pretty show animals ready for parade. They were the fierce soldiers and brawny workers and keen hunters that hundreds and, in some cases, thousands of years of genes and breeding and natural selection had sent forth to truly be man’s best friend.
One thought came to Richard's mind.
No, not a thought, a communication.
What will you have us do, Master?