Arcane II (21 page)

She emerges from the bathroom with a huge white towel wrapped round her head, stops, stares and blinks at us. Her mouth hangs open.

“Hello, Madelyn,” we chorus.

“Nice digs,” I add.

She shrieks, and the towel becomes an instant flailing weapon. But we’re far too quick for it to touch us. We scurry out of the room, chittering ratty laughter, and quickly make our way down to our own new “digs” in Sergei’s roomy, upscale cellar.

We can still hear Madelyn upstairs, though.

Screaming.

In the Paint

Michael Haynes

The paint monster was awake when I went downstairs to play this morning. I tried to tell my sister Regan about it but she didn’t understand what I was saying. Little kids don’t know much. I’m six and go to school; I know a monster when I see one.

I wish we didn’t live in this stupid house. Daddy got a job in San Diego, so we moved here. The house smells old like Grandma’s house back in Portland. The floor of my bedroom creaks. And there’s a monster in the paint.

Several of my best pirates were all chewed up on the floor by where the paint monster lives. I think it must have tried to eat them. Daddy yelled at me for ruining my toys and I tried to tell him that it wasn’t me. He said that everyone was tired of hearing about the face I saw in the paint on the wall.

Mommy and Daddy didn’t let me go out to the park with them and Regan because of the toys getting messed up. Nanny was here today, helping Mommy watch us kids so they gave her a little extra money and asked her to stay with me. She looked kind of mad. Nanny’s okay, even if she talks a little strange. Mommy says it’s just her accent; Daddy usually makes a funny noise when Mommy says that.

I got bored watching cartoons, so Nanny said I should play in the toy room. I didn’t really want to, but I saw that the monster was asleep, so I went in. I started to get out the pirates that weren’t all chewed up so I could have them fight.

I was getting ready for the big sea battle when I looked up and saw the monster’s eyes were open. I yelled and ran out into the hall. Nanny came to see what had happened. I told her the monster was awake.

Nanny said she’d stop this for good. She came back into the room with some of that scratchy paper Daddy uses when he’s building something. Nanny started rubbing it on the walls by the paint monster’s face. I saw that the monster looked mad and I screamed. Nanny wouldn’t stop. The scratch-scratch of her work was hurting my ears. I cried, but she kept rubbing and rubbing.

When Nanny took the paper near the monster’s eyes, it opened its mouth. It ate her other arm first, the one she leaned on the wall with. Nanny looked weird. One hand still scraped at the wall as the other one vanished into the monster. She saw what had happened and tried to pull away but she was stuck.

Nanny took the paper and tried rubbing it around where her arm was going into the wall. The paper hurt her, too. I saw a little bit of blood oozing from her arm. Then the monster ate the hand holding the paper.

She started screaming. She asked me to get the phone and call for help. I didn’t want to. I sat down with my pirates and had them fight instead.

The last thing it ate was her head. After that, it was quiet in the house.

When Daddy and Mommy came home they were really mad. Mommy said something about calling the police. Daddy said there was no point; he said Nanny was probably heading back over the border already.

Mommy said how good I’d been not getting into anything after Nanny left me alone. Daddy said he was proud of me, too. He’s going to take me to the toy store so we can buy more pirates, but I had to promise not to chew them up again. I knew better than to blame it on the monster.

Nanny wasn’t that bad. But I think I’m glad she’s gone. I’m going to get some new pirates and maybe the paint monster won’t be hungry again soon.

Beneath the Surface

Milo James Fowler

We’ll die if we don’t find another way out.

“Any sight of ’em?” Tucker comes up alongside me at the bunker door and leans against the airlock’s steel frame. He’s got his O2 mask on and the same government-issued jumpsuits we’re all wearing. I hope they’re enough to keep out the dust if another freak sandstorm appears on the horizon.

Fortunately, the door mechanisms still function well enough, thanks to our tender loving care. Any swirling dust devils amble our way, we’ll shut it up tight. I don’t care who’s still out there.

“They take much longer, they’ll be running on reserve power.” I gesture toward the sinking sun. “Give ’em half an hour, then we lock up for the night.”

Tucker gazes across the barren plain, a sickly rust in the fading light. “We still have the other jeep down below. They went south this time. I could track ’em easy enough.”

“It was her idea to go. She can find her own way back.”

He nods. “I’m sure she will.”

Silence. The whole world is dead out there.

Our nourishment and air supply weren’t intended to last forever, despite rationing both; but if we could make it work, I wouldn’t mind spending a few more years below. It’s had all we’ve needed for twenty years now: food, water, entertainment. Plenty to keep us busy. And unlike those poor bastards in Sector 51, we weren’t segregated by sex. Sure, they sterilized us for obvious reasons—a limited food supply doesn’t allow for babes in arms—but that didn’t interfere with our coital recreation. It kept us busy.

That was before.

It’s been twelve days since I noticed the change. Something isn’t right. The women—they’re not exactly human anymore. As far as I can tell, I’m the only one who’s noticed, but I won’t say anything, not until I know for sure. The last thing we need in confined quarters is a panic breaking out. I’m the fearless leader, after all, and I’ve got to keep a level head.

It’s nothing you can see just by looking at them, but it’s there, festering under the surface like some kind of alien disease. If I was more of a religious man, I might say they looked possessed. But I don’t believe in evil spirits.

I believe in staying alive.

“You think they found anybody out there?” Tucker sounds hopeful.

Survivors, like us. Would they have the presence of mind not to come into contact with the sand and dust or breathe the air? Judging by the maps left for us on the bunker’s computer system, there should be enclaves to the southwest, but who’s to know? Nothing looks right. The mountains, the terrain—none of it’s what we expected to find. There should also be ruins surrounding us, some sign that this was once a major city sprawl. But the desert has claimed everything that used to be ours with sand and ash as far as the eye can see, like some wasteland from an ancient Dali painting.

Tucker clears his throat. “She said they found an old InterSector out to the east, dust ten centimeters thick all over what’s left of the vehicles, frozen like statues. But all we need is to find some blown-out buildings or remains or some such, and we could make ’em right again.”

“Silk purses from sows’ ears, eh?” I give Tucker a half-hearted grin.

He’s right, of course. It’s what we do. We have all the tools, materials, manpower and know-how. It’s why we were preserved, sealed deep in our bunker in the first place. The government knew they’d be needing our special services once the nuclear winters finally ended.

Where’s the government now? I’ve been sure for a while that we’re on our own. But I keep that to myself, too.

We can’t live out there on the surface. It isn’t safe; I don’t care about the All Clear, or that our computers were programmed to release the airlocks on a certain date at a certain time. How the hell could programmers have known twenty years ago that it would be perfectly fine for us to breathe the air outside?

They couldn’t have known about the sand and the dust, how it’s changed the women, messed with their genetic makeup somehow, altering it, turning them into something unnatural. I can’t wrap my head around it, but it’s happening, I know it, and we’ve got to act before it’s too late. Before we’re just like them.

We have to stay underground, find another way out of the bunker, maybe travel down some abandoned groundwater tunnels that weave mazes under the surface. It’s the only way we’ll survive. And we sure as hell have to survive, if we’re all that’s left of humankind.

“They don’t find anything, we’ll pursue other options.” My gaze pans along the lonely moonscape. “We can’t assume the other Sectors made it. So far, we’ve got no proof we aren’t the only ones left.”

Tucker sniffs. “I can wait for ’em, if you want. Go on below.”

Will she be wearing her O2 mask? Probably not. And the others will follow her example, sucking down all that particulate matter in the air, letting the dust infest their lungs.

I cross my arms, widen my stance, stretch my back a bit. “I’m as eager as you are to hear about what they’ve found. Must be something. She’s never cut it so close before.”

I glance at the red rippling orb sinking into the west—an oddly comforting sight. No matter what else goes on, each day still has an end to it. I take a deep breath and feel the brief chill in my lungs. I hate wearing this mask. Give me a room full of filtered air instead. But anything’s better than the alternative. I can just imagine the dust particles finding their way into my respiratory system and taking root, changing my DNA, mutating me.

Like she is. Like the others are.

We’ll shut the bunker door and seal it, blow the tunnel, disable the elevator. There’s got to be another way out down below. The United World government would have planned for every contingency. We were their only hope for the future. We’re not rats in a maze with only one route to the cheese. And once we’ve found our alternate emergency exit, we’ll go as far away as it takes us—hundreds, thousands of kilometers underground—away from this alien world and its mutant sand. Hell, maybe even under the oceans to the other side of the planet!

“They might have gotten caught in another sandstorm,” Tucker offers with a shrug.

I force a smile, acknowledging his remark. A few months ago, she came back from scouting with three of the other women; they tend to stick together, the four of them. The jeep was caked in dust so thick the vehicle didn’t look like it could run. And they were covered in it too, every centimeter of their jumpsuits, their O2 masks, their gloves, their boots—the stuff clung to them like paste.

She said a storm had come out of nowhere while they were returning to the bunker. The dust and grit engulfed them, and despite cowering into their seats and covering their heads, the stuff had managed to get through everything, even the impenetrable polymer of their masks.

That’s when I knew something wasn’t right. It wasn’t natural. It was
alive
somehow—

“There they are.” Tucker points and moves to step outside.

“Wait.”

He halts, glancing back at me with a frown behind his clear face shield. I ignore him and squint into the weak light. The jeep should be sending up a giant plume of dust, enough of the stuff to turn us all into mutants. But nothing’s stirring.

“There.” He points again.

I see them: four small shadowy figures heading toward us. On foot.

“Where’s the jeep?” I curse. If she’s left it behind, there’ll be hell to pay.

“Must’ve run out of juice.”

I shake my head. “They had reserve power.”

He turns, meaning to go to them. But he’ll stay put if he knows what’s good for him.

“Something isn’t right,” I murmur.

He steps outside then, the sole of his boot landing with a puff of dust.

“Get back in here, Tucker.”

He doesn’t move, just looks at me over his shoulder. “They might need help.”

“Get in here,” I grate out, fury boiling in my belly.

He hesitates, and for a moment it looks like he’s going to try his luck with me. But then he drops his head a little, and he steps back across the steel threshold. The dust clings to his boot like a fungus.

“Clean that off.” Just the sight of it turns my stomach. What was he thinking? He knows better.

But something’s gotten into him lately. Maybe he’s gotten into
her
. And she’s turning him into one of
them
. I’d better keep my eye on him, in case I need to put him down like a mad dog—for his own good, of course.

The shadow-figures enlarge and take shape as they approach with locks of hair waving in the cool breeze, their O2 masks swinging at their sides with every sauntered step. She knows I’m watching. She’s rubbing my nose in it. How much of that air has she inhaled by now?

“Get the hose,” I mutter. “Take care of your boot first.”

Tucker nods and heads down the corridor to the elevator like a good lap dog. He sure as hell better stay that way.

“Well looky here, ladies. Willard’s come up to welcome us home. How sweet!”

She struts toward me like the leader of a wolf pack. The other three chuckle, their faces cracking with the dust caked on their skin. From the looks of them, they’ve been walking in it for kilometers.

“Where’s the jeep?” My jaw muscle twitches.

“What’s that?” She cups her ear. “I can’t quite hear you in that stupid mask. You know there’s plenty of O2 out here, right?” More cackling from the others as she inhales deeply, exaggerating for show.

“The jeep. Where is it?”

They approach within a few meters and stop. Only then do I notice the wet splatters across their jumpsuits.

“Let’s see. How should I put this?” She bites her cheek, half-grinning with a hand on her shapely hip. “We ran into a little trouble, you might say.”

“Not much,” adds one of the others. They laugh together, in on the joke.

I don’t have time for this crap. “If you’ve damaged it, you’ll pay with your rations.”

She feigns hurt for a moment. “You hear that, girls? Little Willard’s gonna put us all on a diet. He must think we’re fat.” She turns and pushes out her posterior, filling out the rear of her suit with ample curves. “You think I’m
fat
, Willard?”