The Missing (Mecklenburg Book 1), page 11
Tom, now inside, quickly pushed the door shut as a thick blackness consumed the outside of the store. The blackness arrived by way of the wind, with millions of individual motions inside of it. Then the sound came.
The blackness became thicker as the sound got louder.
“Do you hear that?” Tom asked rhetorically as he stared at the blackness suffocating the storefront windows.
“I know that sound. As a child, in the hot summers on my uncle’s farm in PA...” Brian said with a pale face as he backed away.
The blackness consumed the store, just as it consumed their minds.
“Locusts!” both men said in unison.
Tom and Brian turned away from the door and walked deeper into the store. The darkness consumed the building as the outside became incrusted with insects.
Chapter 20: Hunting of Men
For two days, Chief Sanders and his hunting party made their way through the woods with no luck at all. The trail had gone cold. The man Chief Sanders was hunting, was a savvy one. A veteran of this parallel world and had honed the art of escape over time.
The sky south of them, toward the Black River, was ominous and full of dark swirling thick clouds, and Chief knew to keep his men away from that kind of unpredictable weather.
“Men make camp here for the night. Tomorrow we continue to move east, away from the weather, toward the mine,” Chief ordered. “Get a fire going and break out the bottle.”
The sun rose over the horizon, or at least the light shined through it. The sun itself has never been seen in this world, but light in the sky comes and goes every day.
The men woke up one at a time. Stretching and yawning, they began to pack their gear.
“We move out in an hour, men. Get some food in ya and keep a sharp eye out. God’s will, be done today,” Chief said.
The men did as Chief Sanders ordered. With three men on security at all times, they each ate breakfast, and resupplied the water. Within the hour, the men were ready to move.
Chief Sanders led the expedition, with Ziggler on point. One boot in front of the other, the men made their way east toward the Duke corporate mine. Like a row of ducklings, they followed Chief through the forest. Until they came to the field.
The men stared from the wood line, intent on leaving the forest for the town, but froze with concern and confusion as they gazed upon a field of white balloons. They were all eye-level, latex white balloons with streamers that entered the ground itself. They looked as if they grew out of the earth, in perfect rows. Acres upon acres of white balloons.
“What’s the hold-up? Move your asses,” Chief said as he walked to the front of the formation. He looked into the field and shook his head. Chief was used to fucked-up mental scenery in this parallel world. He was unfazed. “Get moving. Down the middle toward that big oak tree in the center.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Ziggler as he led the men out of the woods and into the center of the balloons.
As soon as the men approached the balloons, they heard children laughing. There was no source to the sounds, nor pattern that could be understood. Every so often, for brief moments, children’s laughter echoed around the balloons.
At eye level, the balloons were uniformed and caused the men to push the white latex bulbs out of their way as they moved. Sounds of the men walking echoed with a squeal, and the static electricity in the air was tangible.
The closer the men came to that old oak tree, the more the ground softened from brown dirt to a sloppy maroon mud. The closer the men got to the tree, the harder their hearts beat.
The men slowly walked, and the sounds of giggling children followed.
Philip slept the last few nights in the forests. His feet often bled from the escape. He was starving and near hypothermic. But more importantly, Philip was pissed off.
He woke to the smell of death, just as he did most mornings. Death in this world smelled like a bloated deer left on the side of the road (after a kid popped it with a stick, in the heat of the summer).
Philip picked himself up and moved through the woods during the morning light. He was weak and needed food soon, or death would be knocking on his door.
“F-f-f-fuck,” he said under his breath. “I got to f-f-find some f-f-f-food.”
He struggled but reached the peak of the ridgeline he had been walking since yesterday. On the ridge, he could see into the valley and an open area a few hundred yards below him.
The open area was white, with one tree in the center. On the east side of that area were buildings, and buildings meant civilization, and that meant food.
So, he walked. Philip put one foot in front of the other and headed for the open area. He was mentally and physically exhausted but knew his chances of survival waited for him inside one of those buildings.
Philip limped his way down the ridgeline and noticed something strange about that white of the open area. As he got closer Philip realized the open area was a field of white balloons. A uniformed field of white balloons with one giant oak tree in the center.
Mentally, Philip was finally getting used to the fuck show that this parallel world produced. He stood looking above the balloons and noticed a perverted movement within them. It was moving toward the old oak tree. He didn’t know what was causing the stir, but it was headed in his direction.
Philip looked around quickly and altered his route. He had to get away from whatever was inside of that sea of balloons but still get to the buildings. He moved with stealth and as fast as his mangled feet would allow.
Tree after tree Philip passed. One tree at a time got him away from the evil that was headed his way.
Philip walked to the edge of the wood line and could still hear the movement in the distance, but it was no longer gaining on him. He paused, obscured by the trees, and looked for any signs of danger before making his way to the rear of the building fifty feet to his front.
Nothing. The coast was clear. Philip moved quickly, but with a noticeable gimp.
Philip limped over to the building’s back door, noticing a thick black layer of something spanning from the roof to the middle of the door. The blackness was moving.
Philip stood at arm’s length staring at the black mass moving over the door. His first instinct was to leave and look for another building, but his time was limited. Again, he could hear movement behind him in the woods. Whatever was in that nightmare-infested balloon field had made its way to the woods. What the fuck was it?
Philip’s brain was fluttering, and he quickly made the decision to take a chance. He reached toward the door, and the black mass parted like the Red Sea. The door was unlocked and opened outward with little effort. Philip entered the building, and as he shut the door, the blackness consumed the door.
“Was that a door?” asked Brian.
Tom shrugged his shoulders. Both men had taken refuge inside of Big Ben’s Groceries and were trapped by the swarm of locusts covering the building.
Tom and Brian were gathering food supplies for the hotel when daylight poured inside from the back of the store. A moment later, the sound of a slamming door echoed through the aisles. The men had searched the store and knew they were alone inside, until now.
Footsteps fell with a dragging sound sprinkled in.
Tom pulled out his pistol. “Follow me,” he said while leading Brian slowly toward the sound, yet keeping concealed within a small aisle of holiday cards and old Twinkies. It was positioned in such a way that they could allow the footsteps to pass, setting them perfectly to ambush the visitor from behind.
As step after step, foot drag after foot drag, echoed through the sore, Tom held his position, with Brian turned around guarding their rear. The visitor got closer and closer. Seconds seemed like minutes. Tom was beginning to perspire with salty sweat running down his cheek.
The visitor was about to break past the aisle hiding Tom and Brian. Tom slowed his breathing to a deliberate shallow breath. The visitor was only a few feet away.
Was the visitor one of THEM or a SEEKER or even a SOLO? Could this one be hungry enough for flesh? So many thoughts ran through Tom’s head.
The visitor stepped past the aisle, dragging his left foot. He stopped and turned his head toward Tom. And with a sound of porcelain hitting a countertop, Tom put his pistol against the man’s front teeth.
“Show me your fucking hands,” Tom said with a calmness reminiscent of answering a phone call from a friend.
The man stood as firm as concrete. His breathing completely stopped, and his heart began to race as he raised his hands to his shoulders so Tom could see they were empty.
Brian stepped from behind Tom and stared at the man. “Who are you?” he asked.
Calmly the man replied, “Philip Bilkowski.”
“Philip, put your hands on top of your head and turn away from me,” Tom explained while pressing the pistol firmly into Philip’s teeth. This in turn helped the man turn around.
Philip slowly complied.
With his hands on top of his head, Philip began to think of how things were going to unfold.
Brian walked over and quickly searched Philip for any weapons. Satisfied that Philip was unarmed, Brian nodded at Tom, indicating he was safe.
“Philip, turn around. Take a seat on the ground and put your hands under your ass. Do as I say, now,” Tom ordered as he backed away just a few feet.
Philip Bilkowski complied.
“Now, that we know you’re not an immediate threat, Philip, please tell us your story. Tell us what the fuck you’re doing in this God-forsaken land,” Tom said as he lowered his pistol.
Philip’s shoulders relaxed, and he took a few deep breaths. “The f-f-fact that you ha-ha-haven’t killed me yet leads me to believe you two are not with the a-a-assholes who took me a f-f-f-few days ago.”
Philip shook his head and let out a little stress-relieving laugh. “I’m a f-f-freaking janitor at Mecklenburg High School, I wa-wa-was going to get my jacket a f-f-few days ago and woke up here. In this world. I wasn’t awake long be-be-before I was knocked out and taken captive. I woke up for the second time in a f-f-fucking Walmart, getting a water hose as if I was a f-f-four-alarm fire.”
Tom and Brian listened intently to the man’s story. He was wearing a pair of tattered sweatpants and a shirt with several rips and bloodstains. The man’s feet were swollen, black, and bleeding. He had obviously been through hell.
Tom took the next thirty minutes and explained to Philip everything he knew. He told him about THEM, the SEEKERS, and SOLOS. He said to Philip that if he chose, he could come to join them at the hotel and wait for the SEEKERS to return with a possible way back home.
Philip looked at his beat-down body. Then at his clothing. He looked at his hands, swollen and hurting. With a tear rolling down his cheek, Philip looked up at Brian, then over at Tom, and replied, “I’d really like to go with you guys.”
The flood gate of tears opened as Philip realized, for the first time in this parallel world, he had found hope and the stress melted out of his mind and body through the river of tears.
Chief Sanders walked through the balloons, listening to children giggling. His jaw clenched with stress as he moved toward that tall old oak tree.
“Keep moving, men,” Chief said while hoping they were close to the end of this bizarre field.
Ziggler was upfront leading the group past the giant oak. “It opens to the forest a little way past this tree,” he said with hope in his voice.
The men followed. As each man passed that tree, the ground became softer and softer. The earth under their feet turned to liquid, and Ziggler was sucked inside. Disappeared into the planet. Gone. No longer existent. Vanished.
The men stopped. They were in disbelief as Sanders yelled, “Get the fuck back!” Chief Sanders took off running at a ninety-degree angle from the oak tree, yelling, “Follow me!” The harder he pushed, the firmer the earth below him became. The men, while struggling, followed his lead.
The balloons were bouncing off his face, and the children’s laughter became louder. He ran toward a wood line in the distance. Sanders and his men ran for their lives while the voices of children laughed.
Sanders reached the end of the balloons and jumped into the woods. He stopped, turned around, and waited for his men to join him. He could see the balloons moving toward him. One at a time, his men emerged from the balloon field, but not all of them made it.
Like an unforeseen car crash, every balloon in the field burst at one time. The sound was deafening, and blood filled the air. Each balloon had been full, and now the field was a river of red. Three of the men, including Ziggler, never made it out. They were all gone—vanished into the earth.
“Let’s move. Nothing can be done for those men. We have to move, or we will join those poor bastards,” Sanders ordered as he walked into the woods. The men looked at each other and quickly followed.
“At least the children stopped laughing,” said one of the men.
Chief Sanders led his remaining men through the woods while his mind quantified what he had just witnessed: a field of balloons turned to a river of blood, killing three of his men. Sanders thought it wasn’t much different from the book of Genesis. It preached about the story of Cain and Abel and how, at the end of that story, the earth was left cursed to drink Abel’s blood. Sanders thought it was God’s will, and his will be done. He walked, passing tree after tree and thinking about the books of the Bible, punishment, and death.
Philip picked himself up and wiped his face clean. “Thank you a-a-again,” he stuttered.
“Philip, look around and see if you can find something new to wear. You look like shit.” Brian chuckled. “I saw an aisle of work boots against the wall on the other side of the store. Tom and I will finish gathering food and supplies. We will head back to the hotel when you’re ready.”
Philip nodded his head and walked off, looking around. He headed toward the area Brian had seen the boots.
Tom continued to gather canned goods, packing his backpack to capacity and then packing a second one he would also carry—one on his front and one on his back. Brian did the same.
Philip stood in front of a wall of boots, eating peaches from a can. They were old but filled his belly, and the juice went down without him taking a breath. For the first time in forever, Philip had a smile on his face as he looked for a size twelve pair of boots.
“The last pair,” Philip whispered with a grin.
Philip sat on the floor, pulled on a fresh pair of socks, and a pair of red-wing steel-toed boots. A perfect fit. Small victories, but in this world, those were the biggest victories.
Philip, Brian, and Tom scavenged Big Ben’s for supplies. Altogether they packed four backpacks and two totes with much-needed canned foods, dried foods, rope, ammo, clothing, candles, flashlights, batteries, and more. This location had provided well for them and would give so much more in the future. Brian pulled out his map, marked the spot, and added a note of returning for multiple trips.
The men were happy and feeling accomplished.
“Now, to just get back to the hotel,” Brian said with a smile as he pulled out an old six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. He handed a can to each of the guys. “An old-ass beer is better than no beer at all!”
In unison, they cracked open a can and started chugging. Within a couple of seconds, the beer was drained.
“F-f-fuck me; that was horrible,” said Philip.
“Yeah, but it’s better than being dead,” answered Tom.
The men took a minute, downing the remaining beer from the original six-pack, gathered their bags, and headed for the front door. The light was starting to drain from the sky, giving way to nightfall.
“It’s time to get back to the hotel, boys,” Brian said as he slid open the front door.
One at a time, Philip, Brian, and Tom walked out into the abyss of the parallel world.
Chief Sanders and his men took a knee. They stopped before the edge of the woods, as it gave way to a road and an open parking lot on the other side.
The air was motionless. Not a sound. The atmosphere was eerie as night began to blacken the sky.
The men knew not to move. They knew not to make a sound, but rather take a few minutes to look, listen, and feel for movement or signs of life. They were listening for any sounds that could confirm any kind of danger. But, just as important, they would close their eyes and feel their surroundings for anything out of the ordinary.
Ziggler was gone. Ate by the earth. Chief Sanders needed a new lieutenant. A new guy he could trust with orders. A new guy who would do what he asked without question. A “yes” man.
“Chet. Chet Wigman,” Sanders whispered out to his men.
“Yes sir; here,” Chet said as he slowly moved to Sanders.
Sanders pulled out a four-inch serrated blade Spyderco and flipped it open. The edge was razor-sharp and reflected the last bit of daylight, across Sanders’ face.
“God just spoke to me, Chet. He told me that you must kill the weakest link in our team,” Sanders explained as he handed Chet the knife.
Chet looked at the knife in his hand and looked up at Sanders. “I’m sorry. What do you want me to do?”
Sanders looked at Chet, thinking what a fucking shit bird he was to question him.
“Trashman, upfront,” ordered Sanders with a low voice.
Trashman crawled over as quiet as he could. “Yes, sir.”
“Trashman, God spoke to me. He asked that Chet take this knife and kill the weakest member of our team. But he hasn’t done it,” Sanders explained as Chet handed him back the knife.
“Sir, I just don’t understand,” Chet said as Trashman took the knife and opened Chet’s throat with it. His voice cut short when his windpipe was severed, and blood poured down his throat and outside all over him.
“He was the weakest link,” Trashman said as he wiped the knife on his pants, folded it, and handed it to Sanders. “God’s will be done.”
