The Aberration (4 page)

He paused as if at a loss for words, then slowly blinked and released his death grip on Michael’s collar.  “Sorry about that.  It’s just…”

“Just the stress.  Yeah, I know.”  Michael resisted the urge to rub his neck.  Guy was stronger than he looked.  Crazy people usually were.

“Come on, then.” 

They crept down the stairs to the ground floor and cautiously rounded the corner to the restroom.  Closed toilet stalls had never looked so ominous, even with the lights on.  Michael was almost glad to see that Guy seemed as apprehensive, stooping to check under the doors before entering the locker room. 

It quickly became claustrophobic as Michael waited on Guy.  No one else bothered to lock their stuff up, but Guy was the exception to the norm on a lot of things.  He looked back and realized that Guy was undressing.

“What… you brought me down here just to watch you change clothes?”

He turned his back.  “You know, you’re about the only person who bothers to lock their locker.  What do you have that’s so special?”

When he turned back around, the sight made his mouth go dry.  “Are those…
guns
?”  He realized his voice turned squeaky all of a sudden, but he was too shocked to care.

Guy had changed back into his street clothes: black cargo pants and a matching T-shirt.  An antique-looking key medallion hung from his neck.  He paused in the process of laying a modified pistol on the bench.  It looked like a customized version of a sawed off shotgun.  Beside it were twin snub-nose .38s.  

He opened wooden box of ammo and removed a bullet, holding it to the light. The casing was partly transparent, revealing swirling matter inside.  “I really hope that’s a rhetorical question.”

Michael stared.  “What… what the hell?  Why would you bring an entire
arsenal
of guns to work every day?” 

Guy slung the duffel bag over his shoulder.  “Never hurts to be ready.”  He offered one of the pistols. 

Michael held it gingerly, like a nickel-plated rattlesnake. “Ready for what?”

Guy looked up from his task of clipping a raven-engraved dagger to the back of his belt.  The blade was almost as long as a machete.  “Killing things.”

“
Killing
things?  What…?”

Guy looked away, frowning.  “It’s hard to explain.  I’ve been… experiencing… something.  Like… warnings in my head.  In my dreams.  I actually considered that I might be going crazy.  This proves that I’m not.”

“What the hell kind of explanation is
that
?  You’re saying your
dreams
tell you to carry guns around everywhere you go?”

“Well… yes and no.”

“Wha… what?”

Guy sighed.  “It’s more than dreams.  I think they’re… memories.  Times past that I’ve lived.  It’s hazy, so I’m not sure.  But I remember the darkness.  The
evil
.  And I remember fighting it.” 

He motioned to the pistol. “ Have you ever shot one of those?”

“What the...  -no, I’ve never shot a gun in my life.  Not everyone just carries them around all the time, Guy.”

He handed the pistol back.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and frankly… I think you’re crazy.  You need help.  You bring me down here and pull out guns like it’s normal.  Let me help you out with something:  It’s
not
.  We don’t need to shoot anyone.  What we need is to find a way to contact somebody.  A way to get out of here.”

Guy's eyes gleamed coldly as he snatched the pistol back. “I’m not crazy, Mike.  In a few minutes you might wish that I were.” 

He holstered the .38 and shouldered the shotgun.  “Ok, let’s go.” 

10

Atypical Visitations

The roar of the mill was almost mocking.  It ran smoothly, uninterrupted in its concert of fine-tuned efficiency.  Guy almost laughed out loud.  No, it wasn’t the machines that needed attention.   It was the people who broke down, victims of minds etched with the rust and wear of fear and trepidation.  

Michael trailed behind like a lost child following a policeman.  Guy had thought Mike to be different, but in the end he was like the others.  Unable to function once removed from their comfort zone.

They crossed the ground floor where the detachers spun the flour, broke it down to finer particles.  Silhouetted spouting crisscrossed the room like metallic webbing.

“Want me to turn the lights on?”

Guy shook his head.  “It’ll give away our position.”  He set the duffel bag down and peered through the narrow window in the doorway.  Visibility was extinct; the rain fell so hard that he could barely see the stairwell two feet away.  Anything could be out there, and they wouldn’t know it until it was on top of them.

He opened the door.

Heavy rain spattered them and water flooded across the door line into the mill.  They were instantly soaked as they hesitantly stepped out of the protective confines of the mill like tottering children taking their first steps.  The roar of the storm was almost deafening. 

He held the shotgun ready.  Rushing water streamed over the tops of their shoes as they quickly looked around.  Nothing was visible except the deluge.

“Where are the cops?”

“Must have pulled out.  Nothing they can do in the rain.”

Michael shuddered.  It could have been from the cold downpour.  “I don’t see how we can drive out of here. The streets have got to be completely flooded.”  

A movement from the corner of Guy’s eye caused him to turn. 

A disheveled raven was perched on the stair railing.  It glistened from the water on its onyx feathers.  The unblinking gaze was directed away from Guy, into the storm. 

In the depths, something appeared to move.

“Mike.”

Indistinct shapes emerged slowly, taking form as silhouetted figures.  Human figures, but…  Guy squinted. 

“It’s… other people, Guy!  Maybe they got lost in the fog…”  Michael’s voice trailed off.  Guy knew he felt it too. 

The wrongness.

The figures definitely appeared to be human; men and women who approached in a silent, unperturbed manner.  Their clothes were drab and dark, saturated with water. 

The raven gave a harsh caw and soared upward in an explosion of feathers.  Michael did not appear to notice as he took a wary step backward. 

“I don’t think…”

It was their movement that convinced Guy.  They did not walk; they simply… glided, as though they were sails of flesh pushed along by an uneven breeze, or puppets hoisted carelessly with their feet dragged across the ground.  And their faces… their faces were indistinct, shaded by wide-brimmed hats that they did not wear.

“Get back in the mill, Mike.”

The spoken words broke the spell; their legs were resurrected to action.  As they moved, he became aware of the Others increasing their pace.  They skated forward with an undisguised eagerness that felt like… hunger.

“Door’s locked!”  Michael’s voice cracked under the strain of top-heavy panic.

“It’s always locked –put in your code!”

Michael’s fingers were dysfunctional sausages, pounding the numerical buttons in dazed stupefaction.  The Others flew toward them, hands outstretched; Guy could hear their silent panting crawl like caterpillars in his ears. 

He shoved Michael aside and punched in his code.

As soon as the door cracked open, they slipped in and slammed it shut it again.  The Others rammed against it in their unchecked flight, vibrating the hinges.  They pressed in with numbers so thick that for a moment he could not see anything but their shuffling bodies.

It was the peering faces that made bile rise in his throat.

There was nothing there.  Every head was devoid of its face, replaced by skin as pale and smooth as a boiled egg.  Yet he knew they saw with eagle vision, staring at he and Michael through the narrow window ravenously.  Howls from their missing mouths reverberated in his skull until he wanted to cover his head to escape.

Michael knelt on the floor, clutching his temples.  “Shit!  What the hell
are
those things?”

Guy backed away from the door, where the Others still pressed inward as though willing it to collapse.  The silence was almost as eerie as their appearance.  Their frantic movements were without sound, yet he could feel their every movement crawl on his skin like cockroaches.

He backed away and picked up the duffel bag, slinging it over his shoulder.  “Let’s get out of here.”  His voice was alien to his ears, a monotone that belonged to a saner man.

“Where to, Guy?  They could be all around the building…”

“We’re joining up with the others.  We’re gonna need everyone if we’re going to do this.”

“Do
what
?”

“Survive.”

The silent shrieks pursued them as they fled to the brightly lit hallway.

11

Differentiating Conceptions

Fran exhaled her relief when Michael and Guy returned, both dripping wet.  The uncomfortable silence had thickened to near solidity after they left.  Rob and Drake weren’t exactly the type to inspire confidence in harrowing times.

Rob actually yelped when the door opened.  “It’s about time you, uh… got back.  We uh, thought that maybe you had… -hey are those
guns
?”

Michael’s flawless face had hijacked her attention so thoroughly that she didn’t even notice the sawed-off shotgun resting on Guy’s shoulder.  A couple more pistols were holstered at his waist.

“Hope that’s a rhetorical question,” he said.  “Right now we have more to worry about.”

“That’s about the biggest violation of company policy I’ve ever…”

“Shut up!” 

They all stopped and stared as though they had forgotten she was there.  “Someone killed Greg.  Drake’s a mess.  We’re all stuck in here, and you’re worried about stupid company
policies
?  The main thing is -can we get
out
of here?”

“It’s not going to be that easy,” Michael said.  She and the others listened in growing horror at his tale of faceless beings that surrounded the building.  None of it seemed possible, but even though Guy could easily be dismissed as crazy, there was no way Michael would repeat the story unless it were true…

“Jesus.  No
faces
?”

Rob scratched his head.  “Are you sure?  It’s hard to see anything in that rain.  Maybe you saw…”

Guy rounded on him.  “Do we look like idiots to you, Rob?  You think that storm is
natural
?  Wherever it came from… it brought something with it.  We’d be fools to go back out there.” 

“Why didn’t you just
shoot
the bastards?” Drake asked suddenly.  The manifestation of firearms seemed to have enhanced his courage.  “Those guns
do
shoot, don’t they?

Guy glared.  “They’re not exactly human, you helpless
ass
.  I didn’t want to risk creating a volatile situation.”

“Volatile situation?”  Drake sputtered in disbelief. 

Fran shook her head.  “Wait.  How… how is any of this possible?” 

“If this isn’t a
volatile situation
, what the hell is?”

 Fran felt her nails dig painfully into the palms of her hands.  “What’s
happening
to us?

“An Aberration.”  Guy’s stare was slightly glazed, his voice barely audible. 

“Wha… what?”

Everyone looked at Guy.  He continued to stare into space as though seeing something they couldn’t.

Michael raised his hands.  “Look, Guy’s a little… confused right now.  It’s ok.”

Guy looked at him.  The strange thing was that he appeared completely lucid.  His gaze was sharp, more focused than she’d ever seen him.

“Don’t patronize me, Mike.  I know what I’m talking about.  In fact, it’s getting clearer by the minute.”

Drake’s face was the picture of confusion.  “What’s he
talking
about?”

Guy sighed.  “An Aberration.  Best I can explain is that it’s… dark energy that manifests… physically.”

There was a pause while they stared at him.  Mike cleared his throat and shrugged apologetically.  “I told you guys.  Look… there’s got to be a rational explanation for this.  Maybe this place was built on a burial ground, you know?  Those things could vengeful ghosts or something, trying to scare us off.”

If that’s the case, it’s working.
  Her legs felt quivery as Jell-O, and the others appeared to be at various stages of near panic.  The exception was Guy, who was probably too giddy with the excitement of simmering in his own insanity.

Rob’s mouth twisted.  “
That’s
your rational explanation?  You sound as crazy as uh, Guy.”  He eyed Guy, who stared without comment.  “No offense.”

“Maybe we’re all dead.”  Drake cringed when they looked at him.  Well, we
could
be, right?  Maybe there was an explosion at the mill.  Maybe this is, you know… purgatory, or something.  Maybe we’re stuck here until God calls us.”

Guy barked a laugh.  “What,
now
you want to be religious?”

Drake glared.  “You’re goddamned right I’m religious.  What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

There was something in Guy’s eyes that spoke of wry amusement.  “Just something I’ve noticed about people over the ages.” 

Drake leaped to his feet.  “Oh, and you’ve got all the answers?”

Fran rubbed her temples.  “Stop it.  Just
stop
.  You guys are all idiots.” 

Rob nodded.  “Uh… exactly.  You’re deflecting.  Avoiding what’s uh… really going on…”

Fran wished Rob wouldn’t help her.  “Look… it doesn’t matter what the explanation is.  The real question is… what are we going to do?”

“Wait it out,” Guy said.  “See if the sun rises in the morning.  If it does, maybe these things will go away.  If it doesn’t… then we’ll make a decision.”

“Wait it out?  All night in
here
?  Are you
crazy
?

“Uh… I hardly think that’s a good idea…”

“I can’t stay here, I have to check on Cynthia…”