Escape

Ghostly shadows, cold and dark. That was the New Colony under the feeble light of its now waning moons. Ellie Lewis stood shivering with anticipation in the windswept doorway of 28 Mercury waiting for Benny Knuckles to join her. Their destination: the Celestial Mountains and the nests of the Nazgul. She had come out earlier, not able to endure another minute spent in isolation. The last four days had been torture, her berth an interminable prison.

The return of her memories had not comforted her. They tore at her, ate at her like squirming demons. The sorrow of losing her daughter was too much to bear. She grew to realize that the forced wait before her execution was not just a New Colony superstition. The wait, mixed with the humiliation of her forced fall into prostitution, had been designed to raise the intensity of her torture. And under it all was the continuing feeling that she was not who she thought she was; that somewhere on distant Earth there was another person whose life also hinged on her actions during the next few days.

Forget the other person! That was her decision. The burden would be too much if she had to worry about another. What she wanted now was an end to this, even if the end was her death. They meant to kill her anyway. At least this death would be on her terms, and if God granted her wish, her terms would be something the New Colony would remember forever.

Standing on the cold steps of 28 Mercury Ellie felt alone and vulnerable. Under the terms of her sentence, she was not allowed to go out at night, not even to admire that starry black sky. The streets were nearly deserted, only a few people were out, mostly shopkeepers heading to their homes. They walked quickly with their heads bent low as if the night might catch them in its claws. The carnage of The Reckoning been removed and the streets cleansed of human debris. Only an occasional stain remained the blood red reminders that the New Colony was a dreadful place, a place never truly at peace.

At last the door opened and Benny Knuckles stepped out. Like Ellie, he was dressed in black. He nodded at her with a surprising air of confidence. "Come with Benny," he said quietly. "We must make one stop before we leave."

"Where?" Ellie asked, following him down the steps. "You said you had some sort of transport."

"Don't worry, everything is taken care of. It is waiting at the Institute. Benny will get it after we receive the blessing of the Sacred Seven."

"Is that really necessary?" she asked, half jogging to keep up. "We might be seen."

"Necessary? No, it's not necessary, but Benny must do it anyway. It won't take long, and it's on the way."

They turned a corner and Ellie could see the Glenn Institute up ahead, a puzzling collection of jumbled buildings that made up the New Colony's version of a university. It was surrounded by a high wall that added to its mystery. A block away from the Institute's front gate, Benny and Ellie stopped before a small, pretty building.

Unlike the rest of the street, it was bathed in a sweet golden light that announced what it was, a shrine.

The building was unlocked and unguarded, a testament to the fear-filled, law-abiding citizens of the New Colony. Surprising even more because of the treasure it contained.

As they mounted the front steps, Ellie gazed up at the high, bell-less tower, the failed secret weapon against the Nazgul. They entered into a beautiful, round antechamber. Its floor was constructed of a polished marble the color of a pink sunset. In the middle of the room was a fountain highlighted by spotlights embedded in the ceiling. It was a place of peace and unmistakable reverence.

"The Water of Life," Benny pointed with respect.

Benny led Ellie around the fountain and through a second doorway into a large, candle-lit room. At its front, was a glass display case that contained the relic that influenced the New Colony more than any one thing since the coming of The Reckoning.

Benny looked in and spoke in a humble voice, "Help us, Lords of Mercury in our worthy endeavor."

Ellie looked at the relic wide-eyed. A door opened in her mind, and knowledge came to her. Knowledge of the place called Mother Earth. Knowledge of its history, its life. She gasped in recognition of this sacred relic then, quite unintentionally, she began to laugh.

"Shush, Ellie!" Benny said, clearly angry. "Godspeed, do you wish to be doomed?"

Ellie clasped her hands to her mouth, trying to stifle a giggle. "I, I can't help it, Benny," she said.

Benny glared as Ellie struggled to contain herself. She wiped tears of laughter from her face and looked in the glass again. It was a book mounted on a clear holder. "'The Lords of Mercury,'" Ellie read aloud. "'A Pictorial History of the Mercury Seven Astronauts.'" She turned to Benny.

"This is your Sacred Book?" she asked.

Benny nodded solemnly.

"Jesus Christ!" Ellie exclaimed.

Benny looked at her. "What is Jesus Christ?" he asked.

Ellie smiled and shook her head. "Another Lord of Mercury you know nothing about."

"Why must you always speak in riddles?" he asked irritably.

"I'm sorry, Benny," she said guiltily, and she really was. He was doing so much for her. At least she could respect his beliefs--no matter how hilarious. "So what should we do? Pray for success?"

"Success is too much to ask for, Benny fears. Pray that we survive."

Ellie looked at the book once again. She remembered the Mercury Seven, the first astronauts of the United States. The other person in Ellie’s soul had watched them as a child with the rest of his awed generation. The cover of the book contained a color photograph of the seven astronauts standing boldly before the camera dressed in their silver flight suits, complete with helmets. The shining examples of America's glory. How did this old, rather insignificant book find its way to the New Colony from a far away planet known by the colonists as Mother Earth? More amazing still how had it survived the Great Disaster to become the foundation of a fabulous myth?

Ellie stood in respectful silence, waiting patiently as Benny silently prayed. After a time, he turned away from the case. "Benny supposes we should leave now," he said.

They retreated to the antechamber where Benny paused before the fountain. "You wait here," he said. "Benny will go to the side gate to the Institute and get what he hid."

"Maybe I should go with you."

"No, it's safer if you wait here."

"Okay, but please hurry, Benny," Ellie said. "Every moment we wait, the more I feel we will be caught."

"Benny will hurry," he replied as he left.

She was alone again: alone in the quiet sanctuary, alone with her fears, alone with her doubts. She looked into the peaceful fountain. "The Water of Life," Benny called it. Ellie looked down and caught a glimpse of something attached to the base of the fountain. She knelt and found a metal rack containing several pint-sized bottles. Ellie lifted one out. It was empty. She looked at it carefully. The image of a Nazgul was molded into its opaque green side.

"They actually worship these ghouls," Ellie said, shaking her head.

On an impulse she unscrewed the cap and dipped the bottle into the water, wondering if she was committing yet another blasphemy. When the bottle was full, she secured the top and secreted it in her jacket pocket.

"Ellie," a voice rasped from the shadows in front of her.

Ellie whirled around frantically. There was someone in the room! There, hidden deep within the dark corner! Before she could react, a man stepped forward into the light.

"David?" she asked with a gasp. The name of the man who shared her existence had just come to her, but this could not be him. This was a young man in the prime of life.

The man stopped cold. "You forget me so easily, Ellie?" he asked.

Ellie was dumb struck. Who was he? She knew him, yet, yet, she didn't know him. He was someone she loved, once loved, always loved. Loved no more.

The man spoke again, this time more forcefully. "I said, don't you recognize me? Or have you already forgotten the name of your intended?"

"Virgil?" she questioned. Confusion welled within her and she felt split apart.

"I've come for you, Ellie," the man said. "I've been watching, waiting for my chance.

Ellie didn't understand. "Come for me?"

"Yes. I've finally decided, Ellie. I will no longer allow my mother treat me like a child!"

"But, David--oh, shit, Virgil. What are you talking about?"

"You're mine," he said simply. "You will always be mine. I have come for you. We will begin again."

Something stirred within Ellie, a deep wave of fury and hatred that rose up and seized her.

"You, you broke our love!" she cried. "I am called the defiler? I am condemned? You, Virgil. You are the defiler! You killed our daughter! You killed our love!"

"I deeply regret that Emily, but--"

"But what, Virgil? We can have more? Is that what you were going to say? Come with me? Fuck me again? We can have another child? And if this one is perfect then maybe it will be allowed to live? Is that what you wanted to tell me?"

"I wanted to say I was sorry."

"Sorry?" Ellie spat. "Sorry? You use a word as trite as sorry?"

"What else would you like me to say?"

Ellie was speechless. The arrogance! The monumental arrogance of this man! She had loved him? Had she really been so stupid?

"Come with me, Ellie," Virgil said consolingly. "I have another place we can go until its safe."

Bile rose in Ellie's throat and she struck out. "We will never be safe, Virgil. And as a matter of fact, you will never be safe."

"What do you mean, not safe? I am the son of the Mission Controller. Soon I will rule the New Colony!"

Ellie unzipped her jacket and produced a long metal rod, sharpened to a point. She pointed it at Virgil Schirra threateningly. "I will grant you this night, Virgil. Our Emily loved you. In her memory I will grant you this last pitiful night. But if you ever speak to me again, Virgil, ever, I will kill you."

The door opened and Benny Knuckles walked in.

"Ellie--" he began. The words froze in his mouth. He looked at the drawn weapon in Ellie's hand gleaming in the overhead light. It was the safety bar from the shutter in her berth, honed into a short sword. So that was what she had been doing for the last four days!

Ellie and Virgil didn't even notice him. They were standing like stone sentinels, their eyes locked. The air about them tingled with electricity. Benny stood in the doorway, their mission momentarily forgotten, looking back and forth between them, unsure of what to do.

"Ellie," Virgil said, his voice now shaky.

"I warn you, Virgil. Not another word or I will kill you," Ellie said. "I swear on the memory of Emily, I will."

Something bad was going to happen, Benny was sure of it. He forced himself to move. He went to Ellie, keeping a watchful eye on Virgil. He had never been this close to someone so powerful. He was scared to death, but he had no choice. He grabbed Ellie by the arm. She resisted.

"Godspeed, Ellie, come with me!" he said. "We've got to go."

Ellie looked at him as if for the first time. Her eyes were filled with angry tears. "How could I have been such a damn fool?"

"Come," Benny said gently.

Ellie glared at Virgil like a lioness ready to pounce, waiting for an excuse to do the unthinkable. Virgil did the right thing. He remained silent. His face showed the shock of a man who had failed once again. Seconds felt like minutes. Finally, Ellie allowed Benny to guide her to the door. Before they stepped into the New Colony night, Ellie stopped.

"Do not follow me, Virgil," she commanded, pointing her weapon menacingly. "Do not!"

Virgil did not follow.

Parked at the curb was a bright yellow vehicle that vaguely resembled a motorcycle. It was a long, ungainly machine with a long, black seat. At its front were two massive headlights, one mounted atop the other. At its rear, two storage boxes straddled the back fender. Ellie looked at it skeptically, wondering how such an awkward machine could possibly be kept upright.

"Hurry, Ellie," Benny said as he hopped on the seat.

Ellie climbed on behind him, seemingly unconcerned that she had just threatened the son of the Mission Controller with death.

"Don't worry, Benny," she said. "I think he's too scared to move."

"Benny just hopes he came here alone. If his guards followed him..."

Benny pushed a button. There was a whooshing sound and the motorcycle came alive. It was amazingly quiet. The vehicle was obviously not driven by an internal combustion engine. As Benny would explain later, it was constructed long ago on Mother Earth and shipped to the New Colony for reasons long forgotten. It was owned by Professor Carpenter, dean of the Institute. Benny, and his father before him, had cared for it for many years.

Now Benny had stolen it.

The motorcycle took off with a jerk. Ellie gripped Benny tightly around the waist and hung on. As they rounded the corner, Ellie looked back just to make sure Virgil Schirra wasn't being stupid. The street was empty.

Ellie looked forward feeling a tinge of disappointment. "I should have killed the bastard while I had the chance!" she said with a growl.

The Celestial Mountains

In spite of its size Benny Knuckles steered the oversized motorcycle agilely through the tangled streets and alleys that made up the New Colony. Urban planning had not been a high priority, Ellie supposed, for the town was a veritable labyrinth. But within minutes they cleared the colony's maze and were speeding down a broad, flat road heading west that led toward their destiny. There would be no turning back now.

Ellie tried to imagine what this world would have been like if its history hadn't been so tragically corrupted. This fertile plain, so long and wide, might have teemed with farms and ranches, producing food for millions. Instead it was a wasted, empty grassland between the New Colony and the Nazgul.

Behind her the colony was becoming a memory, its lights glittering like the far off stars. Ellie peeked over Benny's shoulder. The wind blew through her hair, and she felt liberated. Under the combined glow of the waning moons she could see the Celestial Mountains a hundred kilometers ahead. She wondered if they held the salvation she so desperately sought, or just the final stage of her damnation.

"How long until we get there?" she asked in Benny's ear.

"A unit before we reach the foothills," Benny replied over the rushing wind. "Probably another before the road ends. From there we will have to go on foot."

The night grew cold. Ellie was glad she had taken Benny's advice to dress warmly. Still, she snuggled behind him, letting him bear the blunt of the wind. As for Benny, he didn't complain. In fact, Ellie had the impression that he was enjoying himself immensely. Was he ignorant of the dangers ahead, or did he simply not care?

"It's love, Ellie," her guilty conscience told her. "It's his love--for you."

Time passed. The nearly silent motorcycle glided almost miraculously over the uneven road. Soon they entered the rolling foothills, and the mountains loomed ever closer. There was nothing celestial about them, Ellie thought bitterly. They grew from the valley floor like angry spikes: impossibly steep, impossibly high, an unconquerable barrier. Looking at them made her tingle with fear. What if they failed?

There was no sign of pursuers, and there would be none. For Ellie now knew that the people of the New Colony were like the cattle of far off Earth: led around, used, and ultimately given up for slaughter. No one had ever dared challenge the perverted order of colony life and the laws of The Reckoning, and no one had ever openly rebelled. Until now.

The road began to narrow, becoming rough and ungainly. It veered to the right and followed the base of the mountains. Soon it was little more than a rutted path. They traveled two, maybe three more kilometers until the motorcycle's massive headlights fell upon a large boulder that blocked their way.

Benny pulled to a stop. "We've gone as far as we can," he said. "Benny will hide the bike in the scrub. If the Lords allow us to survive it will be here when we return."

Ellie grunted but felt no such optimism. For her, this ride felt like a one-way trip. She stiffly climbed off the bike, shook the pins and needles from her legs, and watched Benny maneuver the motorcycle to a place out of sight from the road.

The feeling of vulnerability returned to her. It would be three units before the sun showed its face. Danger lurked in every shadow. Benny had told her it was thought that the Nazgul, gorged from their feasting at the New Colony, hibernated until just before the next Reckoning, but no one knew for sure. Were they out there now, Ellie wondered, circling their eerie nests, searching for an unexpected sweet?

Benny appeared unconcerned. After securing the motorcycle, he produced a large, quilted pad that he spread across a patch of flat ground near the rock.

"Here, Ellie, rest before the day begins," he said.

"Perhaps we should go now," Ellie replied, looking nervously above her.

"Benny does not wish to encounter a Nazgul in the dark," he said grimly. "At least in the daylight, I know they sleep."

He was right, of course, Ellie thought. Damn him!

She looked at the quilt and suddenly a great weariness came upon her. Without another word of protest she fell upon it. With heavy eyes she looked up at the starry night sky, filled with an infinity of unknown constellations. Where was Mother Earth, she wondered? Where exactly was she?

****

"Ellie. Ellie wake up."

Ellie awoke with a start. The thoughtful face of Benny Knuckles was peering down at her. For a brief moment she didn't know where she was, but it soon came rushing back to her; the heartache and the terror that had driven her to this time and place. The stars were gone, hidden by the oncoming daylight and a thin membrane of clouds that had swept across the azure sky while she slept.

She rose on one elbow and looked about sleepily. The distant horizon was split with a glorious array of colors that announced the dawn. Ahead was the vast plain untouched by human hands except for the nearly forgotten road cut long ago before the Great Disaster. The morning breezes rippled across the wild sun-baked grasses like waves on a golden ocean. Somewhere beyond the plain, now hidden from her view, was the New Colony and the Outer Territories and the Great Sea beyond. Behind her, the angry mountains rose to a dubious heaven, remote and lonely.

Ellie stood and stretched. Benny handed her a cup of Kuva from a thermos. She took the drink gratefully, forgetting that it was a far cry from the rich coffee of Mother Earth. She took a sip and with her free hand rubbed the remains of sleep from her eyes.

"Come with Benny, Ellie. He wants to show you something."

Ellie followed Benny past the rock that blocked the path and around a bend. She stopped. There, before her, was a wondrous sight. A trail had been carved out of the rock, a trail that led upward. Her eyes followed it as it snaked around the mountainside, eventually disappearing around a far curve.

"Who made this?" she asked wondrously. She had imagined they would have to climb, that the path to the Nazgul would be a bitter, back-breaking struggle. She never imagined a trail.

Benny shook his head. "Benny doesn't know. He has heard nothing of a trail; not a whisper. The road that brought us here, yes, that is well known, but nothing of a mountain trail."

"Do you think it leads to the Nazgul?" she asked hopefully.

Benny looked at the twisting trail thoughtfully and nodded. "Benny thinks it does."

"Then who..?" Her question tailed off for there was no apparent answer.

"Perhaps we'll see," Benny said, his eyes returning to her. "Benny thinks today many mysteries will fall away, and the answers will come--whether we like them or not."

They returned to their make-shift camp to prepare. "Thank you, Benny," Ellie said as they walked. "Thank you again for everything. Did you manage to rest at all?"

"No," he replied. "Benny kept watch just to make sure."

"Then the rumors are true. The Nazgul do sleep."

Benny shrugged. "Benny thinks they are both right and wrong. He thinks one Nazgul never totally sleeps."

Ellie stopped, her mouth agape. "What? You saw it?"

"No," he replied. "Benny saw nothing. But during the darkest part of the night, its shadow crossed his soul. It has a name, you know. The biggest one. He's called Iscar, though no one dares speak its name aloud. It's thought it was the first one to be infected. They say he has special powers. Even as he sleeps, a part of it is aloft, always aloft, watching and waiting."

"Waiting for what?" Ellie asked with a shiver.

"Waiting for the time when all the people of the New Colony are dead.
Waiting to reclaim its home."

"It means to attack the colony?" Ellie said.

Benny sighed. "No, there is no need to attack. The Nazgul are fed and fed well. They only need to wait. The colony is a sick and bitter place. Even someone as low as Benny knows that. Eventually the people will turn on each other."

Ellie understood immediately, and it made sad sense. The New Colony was a house of straw. Its political systems corrupt, its religious beliefs as fragile as a flower in a winter storm. A time will eventually come when it will all fall back on them, and war, the ancient legacy of mankind, will come to claim its own.

"Maybe what we do here will stop it," Ellie offered.

Benny looked at her thoughtfully. "Maybe," he said with sadness in his voice. "Come. We must be on the move. Benny fears a storm is coming."

Ellie looked up. The clouds were thickening. The fragile morning sunlight would soon be swallowed by gray.

During the night Benny had unloaded supplies from the saddle bags and divided them into three black backpacks. Two of the packs were roughly equal in size; the third was long and narrow. Benny opened the bag and pulled out a wooden stake milled per Ellie's instructions. It was the length of a baseball bat (an object unknown to Benny Knuckles) and menacingly beautiful. It had been trimmed on a lathe until it was perfectly round--and piercingly sharp at its business end.

The stakes had once been part of a giant oak bed that had come from a place called England. It had been brought to the New Colony to be displayed as an example of the craftsmanship of Mother Earth. It was severely damaged in the Great Disaster and its remains had been reverently stored in the basement of the Glenn Institute for many generations. It was now honored not for craftsmanship, but because it was a relic of a mysterious world known only in dreams and in the enigmatic photos of the Sacred Book.

Benny had taken this relic and cut it up into seven killing stakes. He handed a sample of his handiwork to Ellie. The smooth wood felt good in her hands: cool, inviting, familiar. She remembered the story written by a man she now knew as David. It gave her the knowledge of wooden stakes. They had been a part of a long heritage hidden by society. Was the story true? Surely not to David, who simply brought it out of his imagination and had written it down. But to Ellie it was true, and in a weird way it was written for this very moment in time.

"You did good, Benny," she said, handing it back to him.

"Benny's sorry about the thing called garlic," he said.

Ellie shook her head. "We'll make do," she replied.

Benny placed the stake with the others, then handed one of the smaller packs to Ellie "You carry this lighter one. It contains food Midgey prepared for us.

"I can carry my share of the weight, Benny," Ellie said dryly.

"Benny is sure you can, but who carried you back from the bell tower?" he teased. He picked up the two remaining packs, arranged them on his back, and turned toward the trail. "Ready?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. She would not argue with him; not after all he had done. "But if you don’t mind I will lead the way now, Benny. It's my destiny."

Benny started to argue. Exposing Ellie to danger was against his natural male chivalry. He should lead, facing any danger first. But when he saw how important it was to her, he stopped. This was her journey of discovery, a journey for her soul. The steps that led to the Nazgul were in many ways a validation of her life.

Ellie started up the trail under an increasingly overcast morning. Gravel crunched under their feet, and she wondered how many great causes had begun with this simple, earthy sound? The trail was a marvel. It utilized the mountain's natural switch backs, but when the terrain refused to cooperate, a clear path had been cut into the rock. It had not been constructed for sightseeing; it moved relentlessly upward in a very businesslike fashion. The question was where did it go?

Ellie was thankful Benny Knuckles bore the heavier load. After steadily walking uphill for a unit or more, her legs were cramped and aching. At last they stopped to rest and have a quick meal of thick sandwiches and Kuva from her backpack. As she munched down Midgey's mystery meat, Ellie wondered if Benny had cleverly planned that her "share" of load would slowly diminish as they ate.

Ellie regarded him affectionately. It seemed to her that in the few short days since her awakening, Benny had changed. He had matured, grown into a man before her eyes. He had been thrown into an impossible situation, alien to both his upbringing and culture, and had handled it with bravery and intelligence. She wondered about Midgey. Had it been her quilt he had spread upon the ground? How much did she know about their quest? Did Benny have the slightest idea how much Midgey loved him?

The wind began to kick up, and the smell of rain was thick in the air. Ellie clutched her coat around her and stowed the remains of their lunch. A storm was not what they needed today, but the Lords of Mercury apparently had other ideas.

They continued their journey up the winding trail praying that it would lead them to their goal. It was misting now; only a matter of time before the real rain began. Ellie looked out over the fog choked valley toward the New Colony and wondered what was happening there. Had Virgil regained his composure and sounded the alarm? Was the Glenn Institute aware that some of their treasure was missing? Was the smug complacency of the colony finally beginning to crack?

They rounded a bend and came to a halt. Ahead of them was something unexpected: the dark entrance to a cave.

"Godspeed!" Benny exclaimed.

"Oh, shit," Ellie swore. A dark, ugly cave was the last thing they needed.

The entrance gaped at them like a giant toothy maw. They stood silently in the middle of the trail mentally adding up their choices. There were none. It was either enter the cave or turn back defeated.

"I knew they would be in the dark," Ellie said with resignation. "It only makes sense. Those who live by blood shun the light. But now that the darkness is here...

"Not totally dark," Benny said, lowering his pack. He produced two objects that Ellie first recognized as flashlights, though they only vaguely resembled those lodged in her patchy memory. They were long, narrow, and sleek; cobalt blue except for one clear end. They were, she realized, an electronic torch.

Benny handed one to Ellie. She took it knowing that it might push away the darkness, but it would never stop the terror growing inside her.

Benny saw her distress. "Sometimes it's best not to think too much, Ellie," he said. "Keep yourself focused on your goal. The rest doesn't matter."

Ellie looked at him and nodded. "Let's go, Benny," she said.

As they moved toward the cave, the wind brought the first blast of rain. The heavy drops seemed to urge them on. When they reached the entrance, they hesitated. It smelled bad in there; a rolling odor of deep seated decay.

"We'll get used to it," Benny said without much conviction.

Ellie held out her free hand. Benny took it in his, and together they plunged into the chasm.

Nazgul

On Mother Earth bats live in caves, Ellie thought to herself as she stepped into the darkness. Hundreds, thousands, attached to the ceilings with clawed feet, waiting for night to arrive so they can spread their wings and feed. She also knew that bats were part of The Lore; forever linked with vampires, though it couldn't be further from the truth. Bats were a necessary part in nature's design. In Ellie’s mind The Nazgul were hybrid vampires, the tragic result of stupid, human intervention.
Vampires, real vampires, were the emissaries of Hell.

But on this day, in this cave, in these mountains, on this lonely planet known as the New Colony, Ellie realized that the dreaded Nazgul did have a link to the Mother Earth creature known as a bat. Sleep by day, feed by night. Mysterious and terrifying. Their bodies ruled by an alien ebb and flow. They were not true vampires, but they rained havoc on humankind just the same. And like the vampires of Mother Earth, they must be destroyed.

The torches emitted a startling amount of light from something so small. They illuminated glistening wet walls and a craggy ceiling. There were no bats up there, of course. This was not Mother Earth. This was a different place with different demons lurking in the darkness. Ellie shivered. It was as if every shadowed crevice was hiding something terrible.

For a moment her courage left her, and she stopped dead. Her mind felt muddy and confused. What are you doing, Ellie? What the hell are you doing?

"Go on, Ellie," Benny urged.

She turned. He was standing beside her, bent slightly under the weight of the packs, eyeing her curiously. She drew a deep breath, nodded, and holding the torch ahead of her like a magic wand, continued her journey into the depths of the cave. Benny followed, his torch bright. Their combined light gave substance to the darkness. The droplets of water sparkled like diamonds. The ceiling was high at the entrance creating an arched chamber of rock, but it quickly narrowed as they moved inward. The air was dank and still. The floor was rough but passable. As with the trail, the cave snaked consistently upward.

They soon discovered they were not alone. Hundreds of squirming, rat-like creatures with huge red eyes, fanged teeth, and long bone-white tails squealed and ran into the darkness ahead of their advancing lights. Their shyness gave Ellie hope, but it didn't quell her feeling of unease.

They ignored the rats and trudged on, careful not to fall on the slippery, rock-sharpened floor. Ellie was once again filled with misgivings. What if they became trapped in the bowels of these mountains where the rats could lose their fear and engulf them?

Then, about a unit after they entered the cave, they made a startling discovery.

"Godspeed, Ellie, look at this!" Benny exclaimed. He was pointing his torch into a small alcove cut into the side of the cave.

"Oh, sweet Lord!" Ellie gasped.

There were skeletons, three of them, huddled together in a corner. The rats were scurrying over them in their flight. They were small humanoid creatures with familiar limbs and torsos, but their rib cages were abnormally extended and their skulls oddly peaked at the rear of the head. The bones were well preserved, showing no signs of mutilation. The fragile remains of clothing still clung to them in faded, tattered patches.

At first Ellie and Benny thought they were children, but on closer inspection the truth was even more startling. Two were about the size of a six or seven year old human child. A male and female, Ellie speculated, for the third appeared to be an infant still clutched in its mother's arms. The positioning of the bodies suggested a resignation to their fate; their arms intertwined almost lovingly in death.

"A family, Benny," Ellie said with certainty. "They died together. The Nazgul, do you think?"

Benny shook his head vigorously. "If it were the Nazgul there would be nothing left but gnawed scraps. No, this is something much worse, Benny fears."

"What?" Ellie asked, her voice thin with fear.

"We were taught that there was no intelligent life on this planet when the ships came from Mother Earth. We were told that the terraforming destroyed only lesser species. Benny now thinks that was a lie. Benny now thinks we murdered these poor creatures."

Ellie looked back at the bodies. If Benny was correct, it was a tragedy beyond description. A bitter example of human greed. But now was not the time to be distracted by something that happened in the unalterable past. The fate of the colony, for good or bad, was in their hands.

"Let's go, Benny," Ellie said, tugging at his sleeve. "There will be time to ponder this later. We've got something more important to do, and we have to do it while I still have the nerve."

Benny stood woodenly, staring at the remains. Ellie saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes. She waited quietly, respecting his grief. After a time he turned his torch to the path ahead and they continued on with their journey.

It wasn't long before they came across more skeletal remains scattered along the trail, lying prone on the rocky floor or plopped up against a wall. It seemed as if these poor creatures had fled to the cave in desperation, and here they had perished. Benny passed the carnage grim-faced, his hands clasped white-knuckled around the torch, determined to remain focused on the task ahead.
They walked onward and upward in a seemingly endless course of twists and turns until Ellie thought they were hopelessly lost. Then, they detected a change. A wind stirred within the cave, easing the stink that permeated its walls. The trail bent sharply toward the right, and around a corner they came upon a shaft of silver-gray light streaming from a jagged crack in the rock above.

Outside, a storm was raging. Water dripped from the crack and wind whistled around it, moaning through the cave. A shallow pool had formed on the stony floor and threatened to escape down the trail. When Ellie looked up at the opening in the rock, her heart lifted from its gloom. Light, even light that was dismal and wet, was a good omen.

"They are close," Benny said, his voice echoing in the chamber. "Benny can feel it."

Ellie felt it too, like metal being drawn to a magnet. The Nazgul were near, and for the first time in the sorry history of the New Colony, a different type of Reckoning was about to take place. Then a darker thought arose with her. Did the Nazgul sense them, too?

"The time has come, Benny," Ellie said ominously.

Benny nodded, eased the long pack from his back, and selected a hammer and stake for Ellie. Ellie surrendered her torch and back pack. He would be her eyes now, he would carry the load. She tucked the hammer into her belt and took the stake gladly. It felt good in her hands. It felt--right.

They moved past the crack in the rock, leaving the invigorating daylight behind them. They walked slowly now, for what they sought was close. The tunnel ran roughly straight ahead for maybe thirty meters, then veered left again. When they reached the bend, they stopped.

"Turn off the torch, Benny," Ellie whispered.

The cave went black, and for a second Ellie had to suppress the urge to bolt. They waited for their eyes to adjust and pondered what to do next. She could hear the rats squeaking about them, coming closer in the comforting darkness to explore the enticing human scent. She had to will herself to stand still. Slowly they sensed the dim rays of light ahead.

Ellie touched Benny on the arm and they moved onward.

With each step the light became stronger. Around one final turn they reached the entrance of a high chamber. There they discovered the light source: a brightened opening to the outside world at the far end. Cascades of rain dripped from its upper lip reverberating loudly.

Benny lightly shook Ellie's shoulder and whispered in her ear. "Nazgul,"
he hissed, pointing to a dark area far back from the opening.

Ellie blinked hard. Yes, it was a Nazgul, hanging upside down from the top of the cave.

The beast was long and surprisingly lithe. In sleep its long, horse-like legs were drawn up and its membranous wings wrapped around its body, giving the Nazgul the appearance of a gigantic cocoon. Ellie could feel the life pulsating within it. It was a long, deep life. Nearly eternal. It was filled with longing and hate. Longing for the simple life of long ago; hateful of what had happened to its kindred. It lived for violence and revenge. It lived to drink the sweet nectar of human blood.

Ellie didn't hesitate. The memory of a story written by the man called David pulsed within her. Was it just a story, or had he somehow tapped into something real?

She drew out the hammer, pushed Benny aside, and with sure steps moved toward the Nazgul. Benny, startled by Ellie's resolve, followed less surely, wondering how she even knew where to strike. Where was the heart of a Nazgul? Did these foul creatures even have hearts?

Ellie didn't appear to share Benny's doubts. Five meters away she raised the stake, her entire being ablaze with purpose. Her eyes widened, her mouth grim and set. She spontaneously began reciting a prayer in an ancient tongue known as Latin. It was the secret prayer of the vampire killer, a prayer impressed on her very genes, passed down from generation to generation to be used in the holy war against the undead.

Stake out, its point instinctively aimed toward the evil heart. Hammer raised, her arm transformed to a deadly piston ready to perform its sacred duty. Steel flashing down on wood with blinding speed. The stake penetrating wing, matted fur, flesh, teaming arteries, gristle and bone, then finally the infected heart.

The end came surprisingly easy. The Nazgul shuddered once and died. Benny stood by, his mouth agape, awed by the speed and finality of the kill. The Nazgul swayed slightly, its talons momentarily death-gripped to the ceiling. Ellie stood close by breathing heavily, her hammer ready to strike again if necessary. The body of the Nazgul swayed twice more like a giant pendulum then fell to the floor with a thud.

"Godspeed!" Benny gasped.

One down, six to go.

Before their astonished eyes, the body of the Nazgul began to smoke. A great hissing cloud rose up as the remains disintegrated into a muddy pool. The cave filled with an incredible stench. Benny rushed toward the radiant entrance, his stomach rolling, his lungs gasping for fresh air. The gray light blinded him; rain beat on his face. He looked down and vertigo nearly overcame him. They had climbed high, higher than the useless bell towers of the New Colony, higher than any of the Lords of Mercury's servants had dared since the coming of the great ships. His head throbbed, his mind whirled, and for a brief moment he thought he would faint and tumble to his death.

Ellie grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. "Come, Benny," she said. "We've got work to do!"

Benny looked at her unbelievingly. All doubt had vanished from her. She was strong, resolved. An image flashed before his mind, the first day of the Reckoning when he had come upon her toying with the shutter door. He had seen the fear in her eyes, fear deep and threatening. There was no hint of fear now. The woman before him was not the same person. Ellie Lewis had been transformed into--

--A Hunter.

"Benny," Ellie repeated. "Light your torch. We must be quick!"

He followed her back into the rear of the cavern, handing her another stake as they hurried. There they found a narrow rock-hewn stairway that led upward. The next chamber was not far, and the Nazgul was easily found hanging in the cool, safe blackness. Again, Ellie did not hesitate. The second Nazgul was dispatched with such iron will that it left Benny Knuckles stunned.

Another stairway, a third Nazgul. Instead of tiring, Ellie seemed to be gathering strength. Death to the scavenger of the New Colony was immediate and brutal. The savagery of Ellie's blow pushed the wooden dowel through its body until a bloody tip poked through the other side.

The change started with the fourth Nazgul. Instead of being folded within itself in sleep like the others, this one had wings partially open as if it were trying to awaken itself from its stupor, but it was too late. As the Nazgul stirred, Ellie lunged, and the stake found home with thudding finality. The Nazgul died and plunged to the rocky floor with a sickening thump. Smoke rose from its body as they turned away

Number five was almost fully awake. In the torchlight its front talons clenched and unclenched as if it were beating away the dream of its death. As Ellie approached, Benny feared it might lunge out and grab her, but once again the conviction of her actions brought a swift end.

Number six was the beginning of the nightmare. Its wings were fully extended, but it had yet to lower itself to the floor. It’s hard, black eyes were peering out at the unknown force approaching it. When it saw Ellie, a terrible connection was made, a connection not experienced since the time of The Two.

Benny found it odd that a creature as fearsome and powerful as a Nazgul would be afraid of a petite human female with a wooden stake in her hand, but fear was exactly what the Nazgul expressed. It flinched at the sight of her, its thin horse legs pumped uselessly at the air. Then, it bellowed a scream that could have awakened the dead.

Benny howled in terror and surprise, nearly dropping the torches. He turned and ran instinctively. Only when he reached the stone stairway did he stop and look back for Ellie. Surely she was following! Surely she realized that to go on would be folly! But when his eyes found her he saw she was moving relentlessly forward, the Nazgul locked in her sights.

A part of Ellie hiding deep within her recoiled at the Nazgul's roar, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. She was no longer in control of her actions. Something had seized her, taken over her body, and turned it into a killing machine.

"You can no longer deny your blood, Ellie," a voice within her said. “This is your sacred duty. This is for your Emily and all the other poor souls of the New Colony who met their terrible fates because they were too old or not perfect enough for those who thought their names were sacred. You are the Hunter,” the voice continued. "And a hunter must hunt." The words burned in her brain. "A hunter must hunt..."

Ellie Lewis clutched the stake in her hand and dared the Nazgul to challenge her. It dropped to the floor, arched its back, then scurried backwards only to find that it was dangerously near the entrance to the cave. It was daylight out there. The Nazgul hated the daylight. It would rather stand and die here than submit to the sun's domain. And die it would, for Ellie was upon it.

Benny feared again, but this time it was not because of the Nazgul. The Nazgul, he suddenly realized, was nothing compared to the force of nature that was Ellie Lewis. He had expected a long bloody fight, but it was over before it really began. Ellie leaped through the air, the shrill cry of attack rising from her lips. She hit the wooden dowel so hard, Benny heard it crack and despaired it would be rendered useless. The Nazgul cried out with rage, fell backwards into a slit of light, ignited into wicked, dancing flames and died.

One left. Iscar the mighty one. The time of truth had arrived.

Benny could hear the howl of the dreaded one above them through the solid rock ceiling. Iscar had awakened. Giant legs thumped the floor of his cavern like giant pistons. Benny looked at Ellie, his face stricken, but much to his surprise, Ellie was laughing.

"Having fun, Benny?" she asked.

"Are you, are you crazy?" Benny stammered.

"This is life, Benny!" Ellie replied, thumping her chest like a warrior. "This is life in its purest form! It's the battle between good and evil. It's the battle for the soul of the New Colony! It's revenge for my sweet daughter! I was just a silly girl! All I wanted was a normal life. I wanted to pretend that there weren't things out there in the night that bite. I thought a man would protect me and our children, but I was wrong, so very wrong. That time, that girl, is gone. No more pretending, Benny. No more!"

She held out her hand. "The stake, Benny. Let's have that last damn stake and get this shit over with."

Benny's hands were shaking so badly he could barely get the stake out of the nearly empty pack. Ellie grabbed it out of his trembling hands and looked at him wickedly. "What do you say, Benny. We'll cut the head off of the bastard and take it back to Virgil as a gift?"

Benny was speechless.

Ellie cackled again, then took off up the stairway, bounding up the steps two at a time. Benny could barely keep up with her.

"Wait!" Benny cried. "Wait! It's too dangerous!"

Above him Ellie called out. "That's the fun of it, Benny! That's the God damn fun!"

Iscar and Beyond

Ellie stopped at the top of the stairway, her heart thumping, her mind heady with the froth of victory. This final cave, the seventh, the home of Iscar, was different from those they had encountered below. It was a long, deep gash in the side of the mountain. It's opening a lightning bolt shaped slit in the distance.

Ellie could not see Iscar, but she could feel him standing somewhere in the blackness before her: huge, proud, ready. So bursting with hate-filled life it made her gasp. A foul scent reached her nostrils, and she was repelled. It carried a sense of undeniable strength that left her feeling weak. The wooden stake grasped so surely in her hand now felt all but useless. How could it possibly kill something so powerful? How could she stand alone against such a mighty foe?

Behind her, Benny Knuckles ran up the final steps, praying that Ellie's adrenaline rush had not betrayed her. He feared she would run full throttle into the waiting claws of the Nazgul. Instead he found her standing at the portal to Iscar's lair--shaking.

"Ellie!" he hissed. "Godspeed, what's wrong?"

She didn't need to answer. He knew instantly. This time they were not sneaking up on a sleeping beast. This monster knew she had come and was ready. Godspeed, what should they do? To go forward was certain suicide! But turn back? How could they?

"I'm fucked, Benny," Ellie said squarely. Then she giggled bitterly. "How apropos!"

"Forget this, Ellie!" Benny said desperately. "We'll go back to the colony. We'll find help! They will come. It's their liberation, too!"

His words felt empty, for deep in his heart he knew no one would come, no one would help. A time in history had arrived, a crossroads where all or nothing would be decided in a few short moments. Even he couldn't help, he realized. It was all up to her, to fail or succeed. Now.

"Can you see him?" Benny asked. He felt helpless, blind.

"Not with my eyes," she replied. "Not yet. But I know where he is. There!" She pointed with her stake, but Benny saw nothing except for a deep black hole that threatened to suck in the entire cave--hell, the entire colony!

Ellie stepped forward, a little surer now, a hint of her previous bravado returning, toward the center of the cavern. Her footsteps echoed noisily. The stench grew stronger. Then she heard a sound, a low, menacing growl. Ellie looked up. The sound had come from above her. Where was the beast? What was he up to? Was he clinging to the ceiling ready to pounce?

Ellie had a startling revelation. She had seen Iscar in flight from the bell tower and knew he was huge, but her perspective that night had fooled her. The growls were coming from on high because the monster was towering over her. But instead of cowering, Ellie moved forward step by step, her eyes trying to give form to the nightmare.

Behind her, Benny knew things were going wrong. Ellie was working on pure emotion; driven by forces that were beyond his understanding. She was walking confidently into this mismatched fray even though she might be cut to ribbons. Benny despaired. Had the Lords of Mercury led them here just to see this wonderful woman die? Godspeed, he was just a simple janitor. What could he do? How could he help?

Then an image came to him, a photograph in the Sacred Book. It was of a rocket blasting into the heavens, its flaming tail looking like the fire of creation itself. Written below the photograph was a quote in beautiful scrolled letters. Benny now gasped the true meaning of those words, and he didn't hesitate. He strode forward holding both torches above him, bathing the room with blessed fire.

"Let there be light!" he shouted.

Iscar reared back at the brilliance, and in that instant Ellie saw the full breadth of the demon. He was gigantic! Twice, no three times the size of his slain brethren. Nurtured on blood and human flesh, he had both size and an unquenchable fury. His dark, black face with its long snout and flaring nostrils was a vision straight out of Hell.

The Nazgul screamed in fury. To Ellie it felt as if a jet airplane had started its engines in the resonating chamber. She winced with pain but grimly stood her ground. Benny, despite his unquestioned valor, was knocked over by its force, his gallant torches tumbling to the stone floor.

One torch died, the other sputtered feebly. The cave was darkened, but there was still shadowy light to see by. To kill by.

Ellie wiped the sweat from her brow and took another step forward, stake high, hammer ready. Heroic. She had expected an immediate attack, but to her surprise, Iscar hesitated. It was a creature of unchallenged habit, and this invasion of its home was something not prepared for. How could this pitiable female creature dare challenge him? What did it know that he didn't?

Ellie knew her advantage would be short-lived. She lunged forward purposely. The creature's talons, each as long as the wooden stake itself, lashed out in a blur. Only her amazing speed saved her from death. Iscar meant to slash her in two, but managed only to graze her hand. Ellie screamed savagely in pain. The stake was sent clanging across the cave. She gawked wildly at her left hand and saw the bloody stumps of two fingers.

Iscar, now aroused by the scent of blood, moved in for the kill.

"Godspeed, Ellie, run!" Benny pleaded. His mind reeled. This was too much! There was no chance of victory!

But instead of running for her life, Ellie parried to the right, ignoring the blood and pain. With her good hand, she reached into her jacket and withdrew the metal bar that had so frightened Virgil. To Benny the sharpened rod seemed pitiful now, like a match compared to a flame thrower, but much to his dismay, Ellie pointed the spike and charged.

Just getting to the Nazgul was like braving a gauntlet. Ellie evaded a second nearly fatal blow, then a third, finally escaping under Iscar's legs by a hairsbreadth. She made her metal stake ready and with one swift move, pressed it against the creature's flesh and slammed the hammer with all her might.

It could not penetrate the beast's flesh.

Pain shot up her arm from the ringing metal. The rod clanked uselessly to the floor. Ellie, in shock and astonishment, finally turned to retreat, but Iscar had her. Instead of a death blow, he grabbed her in his mighty claws as if to see what dared challenge the mighty Nazgul. Ellie felt herself being lifted from the ground, up and up until she was face to face with his ugly, evil eyes. They were like black pits, devoid of feeling, devoid of pity. And they looked hungry.

It squeezed Ellie roughly; she felt a rib break. She knew it would only be moments before her flesh would split and her bones be crushed. A lump in her pocket was pressing painfully against her side. With her good hand she reached in and with much effort withdrew the flask of water taken from the shrine of the Lords of Mercury. Ellie looked at it wonderingly, as if it were a mighty gift. The Water of Life! With great pain she unscrewed the top and flung the contents into Iscar's face.

Ellie didn't immediately see the results of her actions, for the Nazgul suddenly released his grip and dropped her to the ground. She hit hard, the pain in her side flaring. Above her Iscar was bellowing in agony. Smoke was rising from his blinded face as if it had been dowsed in acid.

"Ellie!" Benny screamed from somewhere behind her.

Ellie looked back. Benny had scrambled across the cavern and retrieved the wooden stake.

She reached out. "Throw it, Benny!" she yelled. "Hurry, while there's still time!"

Benny tossed the stake through the air, knowing that its flight held their last chance for success. Time slowed. The stake wobbled precariously like a rocket gone astray. But in the next instant it was cradled in Ellie's outstretched hand.

Ellie picked up the hammer where it had fallen beneath the writhing bulk of the screeching Nazgul and staggered to her feet. Her injuries ignored, she moved deliberately toward Iscar who was lashing about blindly in desperation. She side-stepped his razor sharp claws nimbly, and moved in for the kill. Hammer on wood, colliding with flesh and bone, going where steel would not, moving toward the evil heart of the Nazgul with supernatural surety. The singular sound of tissue being violated, as the stake found home with a sickening thud.

Iscar shuddered and rose up as if to try and escape his fate, but the damage was done. Death had come to claim the last remaining Nazgul. But before he rocked to the cavern floor, Iscar called out, a sad, pleading wail that touched Benny's soul. It was a call to its fallen brethren, a signal announcing the end of a world that had been taken from it. It was a bitter call to eternity.

Benny turned to Ellie. "You did it!" he shouted with amazed joy. "The colony is free!" But his joy ended abruptly. Ellie was lying crumpled on the ground.

Benny ran past the hissing heap that had once been the bane of the New Colony, to where Ellie had collapsed. He knelt down and gasped. Blood was flowing from a deep gash across her stomach, the result of the Nazgul's final frenzy.

"Oh, Ellie!" he cried. "Oh, what bullshit!"

Ellie moaned with pain and looked up at him with glassy eyes. "The ultimate bullshit," she said painfully.

"What can Benny do, Ellie? Oh, please Lords, tell Benny what to do!"

Ellie coughed. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. "There's nothing you can do, Benny," she said.

"Don't say that, Ellie! Oh, don't tell Benny that!"

"Benny--"

"Oh, Lords! Oh, help me, Lords of Mercury!"

"Shut up, Benny!" Ellie cried with effort.

Benny shut up.

"I know, I know you are going to find this hard to believe, Benny, but I'm not going to die. I'm just going home."

"Ellie--"

"Shush, Benny. Please. There's not much time. I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. I'm going back to another life, Benny. One of many I have lived; one of many more I will live."

Benny looked at her wide-eyed, faced the stunning realization that there was nothing he could do to help her. Blood was everywhere. There was no way he could save her. Ellie Lewis was about to die.

Benny Knuckles began to cry.

Ellie held up her arms. "Help me, Benny," she said weakly. "Let me see the light of the New Colony one last time."

There was nothing else Benny could do. He carefully picked her up in his arms. As life flowed from her, Ellie felt light as a feather. She moaned with pain, but as they walked toward the edge of the cave, she spoke into his ear.

"The fate of the colony is in your hands, Benny. Take the head of Iscar and show the people that the reign of terror has ended. Show them that the curse of The Two is over. Show them that seven is only a number, not a way of life. Show them that a man without a Sacred Name has achieved greatness..."

"Don't talk, Ellie. Save your strength."

"One other thing, Benny," Ellie continued with a grunt. "Midgey loves you, and if you look deep in your heart you will realize that you love her, too. Marry her, Benny. Have the children that will give the New Colony a fresh start."

They reached the lip of the cave. Rain pelted them, and windswept around Benny's feet.

"Stand me up, Benny."

Benny lowered her onto wobbly feet. She stood in front of him, her back to the edge of the cliff and steadied herself by laying her hands on his shoulders. Benny saw great pain in her, but also a strange peace. He had heard her words but barely understood. She was to be the hero, not him. Why would she leave him now to return to the colony alone?

"Goodbye, Benny," Ellie said. "Thank your Lords of Mercury for helping us, today. I truly don't think we could have done it without their grace."

Ellie tensed and let go of Benny shoulders. She held her arms outstretched and pushed herself backwards. Benny reacted, but he was too late. Ellie tumbled backwards into the driving rain.

"Ellie!" Benny screamed as she plummeted into the mist. But he was too late.

Ellie Lewis was gone—-

--and I awoke in a peaceful place.

Aftermath

I became aware of sunlight through my closed eyes. Next, the sound of chirping insects. Then it was the pain.

I opened my eyes to azure-blue skies and friendly clouds above me. I was lying on a carpet of thick green grass. It was spring, or maybe early summer. Was this heaven? I wondered. But when I tried to sit up thoughts of heaven flew from my mind replaced by hot pain on my right side. A surprised yelp escaped from my mouth. It felt as if I had been stabbed. I looked down at myself expecting to see blood spreading its crimson stain on my shirt. There was no blood, but I lifted my shirt to reveal an angry bruise spreading from my side to the middle of my stomach.

For a long moment I had no memory of who I was, where I had been, or how I had gotten to this place. I was once again struck by the beauty of my surroundings in stark contrast to the pain howling from my body. Where was I and what the hell had happened to me? Then my memory rushed back to me like a tidal wave, but its knowledge gave me little comfort. All it gave me were questions. Who am I? Am I in fact a man named David? Am I real, or am I just a figment of the imagination of a courageous woman named Ellie? Is the beauty and pain around me real or is it just part of another story I wrote? Me and my bullshit stories! Stories that no one reads. Had one of them misfired and now I’m stuck in the middle of it, my mind gone by a stroke or madness?

I tried to focus on the now. I looked around. I had awakened in the middle of a broad valley with snow-capped mountains on either side. There was no one about; no signs of human activity. After a few minutes the pain seemed to subside, and I struggled to my feet. Near me was a peaceful river flowing shallow and slow. I was suddenly aware of a great thirst. I half stumbled to the river as if in a trance, wading in shin deep before dropping to my knees. I drank its sweet waters greedily. I washed my face in its sublime coolness. It made me feel alive. It made me feel clean to my soul. After a time I crawled out of the water and sat at its edge, panting with relief. Then panic welled within me. Where the fuck was I?

That was when I saw the doors, two of them facing each other about thirty feet apart. They were not attached to anything. They were just—there-- two doors in the middle of nowhere like something in a Stephen King novel.

I knew I had free will. If I wanted to I could ignore these doors and walk off into the verdant wilderness that surrounded me. Maybe I’d find a road that would take me to civilization, or at least give me a hint as to where I was. But deep inside I knew there would be no civilization, no paved welcoming road. I knew with uncanny certainty that I had awakened in another world as different as the one I just left. I knew that if I were to walk away from this valley there might be another adventure waiting for me—or death—if that was what I wanted.

Reason came to me. I am no Ellie Lewis. Adventure is not a part of me regardless of the fact that I had walked through the door in that damned café that ultimately brought me here. Yet a door was being offered to me again. Make that two doors! Hope filled me. Were they a way home? Home to Trish, home to my children, my granddaughters?

Tears welled in my eyes. What had I been thinking doing this, ending up here? Yes, I live an exceptionally ordinary life, one full of both heartache and laughter, but it was a life. I had chosen it just as surely as Ellie had chosen to end hers.

I wiped my face with my sleeve. “Be a man,” David, I told myself. “For once in your life be a fucking man!”

I stood and walked between the doors. I could feel their pull on me. I knew I was being given a choice. I could choose either door. It was purely up to me. I walked up to the one on my left, forced my hand to the cool touch of its knob, turned it, and cracked it opened. I peeked in. I could see a steel storage rack filled with cans. It was the rack in the storage room at the 4 Corners Café. It was my way home.

I should have flung it opened and ran through, throwing myself on the wooden floor and thanking God I hadn’t been killed, but that wasn’t what I did. I closed the door and started for the other one. I knew was being stupid, but I…just…had…to…see.

But when I stood before the second door I stopped. I had seen enough movies to know what was on the other side of that door. There would be a light, of course. A blindingly brilliant light calling me to the existence beyond life. There I would find my departed loved ones, peace and happiness. Or maybe I would see stars and the colors of eternity draped across a universe before me. If this was another one of my bullshit stories that was what I would write about—something wonderful on the other side…

My hand gripped the handle, but I froze. I just couldn’t do it. I knew that if I opened that door that would be the end of me. The end of everything I held dear in the ordinary life I lived on planet earth. I knew that if I waited, the door would be offered to me again one day when my time of living was finally over. “Be patient, David,” I whispered to myself. “The time will come again.”

I turned and looked back at the first door. It was now standing open and wide, inviting me to step through to my life of giggling granddaughters and frustrating car deals: the path I had chosen, the life that was meant for me—at least this time around.

-------------

I awoke in my car. I was sitting in front of my house on California Street. I had no knowledge of stepping through the door, the café, or the ride home. My body ached, but I felt strangely refreshed. The memory of a strong, determined woman named Ellie Lewis was within me. Am I somehow her, and is she somehow me? Guess I’ll never know. I’ll just write down what happened and let others decide.

What do you think?

Flying J

My daughter, Laura, recently moved about ten miles south of Plymouth to the old gold rush town of Sutter Creek. As a result, the route my wife and I take to see her has changed. I know no longer routinely pass the 4 Corners Café on my trek toward the Sierra foothills. So since my little adventure at the café I haven’t seen the place, and quite frankly I don’t know if I want to. But deep inside I have always realized that the 4 Corners Café is like a big psychic magnet that is always calling me back. I know that it’s just a matter of time before I once again open its door and order a piece of apple pie and a hot cup of joe.

I never realized that the café might reach out to me.

On our way up to Sutter Creek, Trish and I stopped at the Flying J truck stop down at Flag City. Flag City isn’t really a city. It’s a collection of fast food joints, an overnight R.V. campground, and a small hotel that sits where Highways 12 and 5 cross each other. It’s a pit stop for people bound for south toward L.A. or to Northern California and beyond.

The Flying J has a restaurant, and we decided to stop and have breakfast before continuing the one hour drive to Laura’s. We hadn’t been at the truck stop for a while and were taken aback when we discovered that the J’s restaurant with its huge truck driver portions was now a Denny’s. Don’t really like Denny’s, but we stopped anyway.

I won’t draw this out too much because frankly it’s not much of a story. As we ate breakfast, I kept noticing a young waitress waiting on tables on the other side of the restaurant. There was something familiar about her, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I checked her out a couple of time, cognizant that even after thirty years of marriage it’s still not a good idea to have your wife catch you eyeing waitresses. In the midst of our Grand Slam breakfasts I almost forgot about her, even though the coffee should have jogged my memory.

We rose to leave. Trish went out ahead of me to have a quick smoke in the parking lot before we continued our trip. I headed toward the cashier, check in hand, when I heard a voice behind me.

“Hi, David,” it said.

I turned. It was the waitress. For a second recognition still evaded me. Then I remembered. Several months ago I went to the 4 Corners and Betty Jo wasn’t there. In her place was a young waitress, a teenager I surmised in her place. This was the waitress.

I was dumbfounded. This was the second time I had encountered once of the 4 Corners denizens outside the café itself. The first, of course, was the illusive Irby. Now there was this one.

“Hello,” I replied carefully.

“I’m Stella,” she replied. “Do you remember me?”

“Yes.”

“Got a new job,” she said.

“I see,” I replied. “What happened to the old one?”

“It’s Betty Jo. She’s just too hard to deal with.”

It was then that I saw the resemblance between Stella and the new and improved Betty Jo. They could have been sisters. Now here is where it got weird.

“You two related?”

“Oh, yeah, we’re related,” she said with a little laugh.

“How? Sisters?”

Her eyes widened. She looked at me as if I had just said a terrible joke.

“No. We’re not sisters. Betty Jo is my daughter.”

I froze. From behind me the cashier asked me if she could help me. I turned, thankful for the distraction. My heart was beating heavily. I paid the bill. When I turned back Stella was gone.

As I left the Flying J heading toward Trish and my aging Chevy truck, I asked myself, “When is this shit going to end?” That’s a good question. A question I am unprepared to answer. But as we drove our way to the foothills it came to me.

This shit is never going to end.

Sock

"Try it on, Pete!" Jake urged. "I dare ya!" He elbowed Jimmy Watson to let him in on the private joke.

As for Pete, he seemed oblivious to the teasing. He held the cold, wet sock at eye level and examined it closely. They had found it in the gutter, saved from falling through the grate of the storm drain by a jumbled, twisted collection of weeds, mud, and cigarette butts. It could have been black or possibly dark brown. It was hard to tell through the thick, caked-on coating of dirt. There was a pattern on the sock. It looked like small squares, no, maybe there were circles.

The three boys had been walking single file along the curb enjoying the return of the sunshine. The winter had been the wettest in Pete's memory. It seemed as though the harsh back-to-back March storms would last forever, and when you're twelve, two weeks cooped up in the house is a very long time. That's two weeks of not riding your bike, two weeks of not playing ball in the park, two weeks of not even being able to shoot the breeze with your friends away from the prying ears of adults. But the sun had finally broken through--at least for a little while--giving the boys a chance to stretch their legs and go out of doors, the natural place for boys to be.

Pete tore his eyes from the sock and looked over at his friends. He still remembered the time Jake dared him to put a marble up his nose. It took the doctor an hour to get it out and he'd been on restriction for two weeks. Pete wasn't stupid. He wasn't going to stick this wet, you-don't-know-where-the-heck-it's-been sock on his foot.

But for some reason he couldn't put it down, either. There was just something about it, something special.... He could feel it in the tips of his fingers that gingerly held the smooth, silky material. In spite of the winter torrent that had left it wet and dirty, the sock felt warm, inviting. Pete grasped the sock and squeezed the remaining water out of it. A pincer bug frantically escaped from between his fingers and dropped to the ground.

Jake's eyes lit up in anticipation. He glanced conspiratorially at Jimmy. "You going to put it on?" he asked again. Pete was his friend, but let's face it, he wasn't too bright. He watched with expectancy as Pete shook the last of the water from the sock.

"Yeah, I'm going to put it on," he announced, "but not until my Mom washes it!" With a flourish he stuffed the sock into his sweatshirt pocket.

Jake looked disappointed, his moment of glee had eluded him, but he was pragmatic. With a shrug, he wondered if the kid was finally smarting up. "Come on," he said, suddenly bored with the whole thing, "let's go to my house and shoot a few hoops before dark."

The three boys headed up Stony Glen Drive, the storm drain and the sock forgotten. Pete had meant to throw it back into the gutter, but the invitation to play basketball had erased that thought from his adolescent mind. The sock lay forgotten in the depths of his pocket.

For Pete, basketball was a dirty game. When you're the shortest and the lamest, as Jake would point out, you try to make up for it by being the most aggressive, but being aggressive had its drawbacks--you spent a lot of time being knocked on your butt. And that's where he found himself several times during the next hour. Twice he had fallen into the flowerbed behind the hoop, and by the time he got home he was a mess.

"Don't you dare walk on my entry-way tile, Peter Thompson!" his mother yelled from the kitchen. She had heard him open the front door and caught him before he could place one grimy foot on the new tile his father had laid the previous summer. "You go around back and come in through the garage. And take off those clothes and put them in the hamper next to the washer."

Pete did as he was told and by the time he entered the house, he had stripped to his underwear. "I'm going to take a shower, Mom," he said, heading up the stairway that led to his room.

"Okay, sweetie," she replied. "Dinner will ready in about an hour. Daddy called. He has to work late again tonight. We'll eat and watch a little T.V., okay?"

"Okay, Mom," he yelled as he ran up the stairs.

It was another ordinary Sunday night at the Thompson house. His mother folded clothes from the dryer while Pete, attired in his flannel pajamas, struggled to complete his homework. Pete hated math more than anything, which was saying a lot since he didn't like school much at all. It took him an entire weekend to finish an assignment Jake Gellender finished on the bus coming home.

A little before 9:00 PM, Pete, frustrated by the mysteries of mathematics, retreated to his bedroom to seek solace in the latest Spiderman comic book before his mother made him turn off the light. Though his parents didn't approve of his reading material, Pete loved Spiderman more than anything. How he wished he had his powers, his bravery! Every night before he went to sleep, Pete prayed to God to let him someday be like Spidy.

Half way through the comic book, Pete heard his father come home, tired and complaining about the heat. The heating bill was a major bone of contention in the Thompson household. "Damn it, Flora!" his father complained as he turned down the thermostat. "You trying to turn this place into a sauna?"

A few minutes later his mother entered his room and plopped a large bundle of freshly washed clothes on top of his dresser. "I swear, Pete, I've never had a son who could dirty clothes like you," she said.

"I'm the only son you've ever had, Mom," he reminded her.

She turned and gave him that "don't sass me look" that quickly melted to a smile. She went to the bed and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Your father will be up to tuck you in. You can read until then, but then its lights off, mister. Understand?"

"Sure, Mom," he replied.

Moments later his father poked his head into the room, still dressed in his work clothes. "How's it going, sport?" he asked.

"Fine, Dad," he replied with a smile. His father had called him sport for as long as he could remember. Sometimes he wondered if he'd forgotten his name.

"Did you finish your homework?"

"Yeah, I finished it."

His father sat beside him and gently took the comic book from Pete's hands. He placed it on the bed stand and kissed his son on the forehead. Pete could smell cigarette smoke on his breath. His father supposedly quit smoking months ago; his mother had insisted on it. Well, he didn't smoke around the house anymore, but like his mother turning up the heat once his father left for work, Pete was sure there was a pack of Marlboro Lights somewhere in his life.

"Time to go to sleep, sport. Okay?"

"Okay, Dad."

His father reached over and turned off the reading lamp, tousled his son's hair for good measure and left the room, leaving the hall light on until his son fell asleep. Pete hadn't been afraid of the dark since the fourth grade, but he never told his parents. The light in the hallway was a little bit of childhood Pete wasn't quite ready to let go of....

****

When Peter Thompson woke in the middle of the night he was cold. Actually, it was his feet that were cold. He looked over at his dresser sitting dimly across the room. The bottom right drawer was what his mother called "the extra sock drawer". It was where she kept all the orphaned socks that had either lost their partners to holes or had mysteriously disappeared from the dryer. Pete liked to imagine that the dryer was some sort of time machine that occasionally jettisoned one of his socks into the future. Pete's mother would never throw away a sock just because it had lost its mate. They all went into the extra sock drawer to be used on occasions just like this--cold feet in the middle of the night.

The problem was one of logistics. In order to get the socks, he would have to run across the cold hardwood floor to the dresser and back without freezing his toes off. He had performed this maneuver often in the past, each time scolding himself that he should have put on a pair before he went to sleep. But since his feet were never cold at bedtime, the socks always remained forgotten in their drawer.

It was no use fighting it. Cold feet always kept him awake; he needed the socks. He didn't dare turn on his light. His mother, who he swore never slept, would be on him like a hawk scolding him back to bed. Pete threw back his covers and dashed through the darkness to the dresser. He slid open the drawer, randomly grabbed two orphans, closed the drawer and dashed back to the inviting warmth of his bed. Mission accomplished, Spiderman!

Pete slipped on the socks and enjoyed the warmth that was slowly returning to his feet. He couldn't see them in the darkness, of course, but the sock on his right foot that grabbed his attention. He spent a few seconds analyzing the feeling. He felt as if it his foot was swathed in luxury, the most comfortable, heavenly feeling he had ever experienced in his young life.

Moments later, as he drifted off to sleep, he thought how wonderful it would be to have an entire suit of clothes made out of the sock's exquisite material...

...Sharon Buckley was looking at him, not just looking his direction while waiting for him to embarrass himself once again in math class, she was looking at him. Her cool blue eyes bored into his. The inviting mounds on her chest, which had started to appear during the fifth grade, rose and fell with every breath. In his dream, he felt light-headed, giddy. Sharon smiled radiantly, and from across the aisle and two seats back she did the most extraordinary thing; right there in math class, oblivious to everyone but him, she began slowly to unbutton her pink satin blouse...

Pete awoke, bathed in sweat, his head spinning. He looked over his still silent alarm clock. 6:40 AM, it said. He pulled back the covers and sat at the side of the bed trying to clear his thoughts. He didn't think he was sick, but when he stood his underpants seemed to stick to his body, pulling painfully against his skin. Had he wet himself in the middle of the night? No, that wasn't it. It was something else. A wisp of his dream tugged at him, and he remembered....

Feeling flush, Pete hurried to his bathroom and removed his clothes, hoping a hot shower would wash away the dream. He stood in front of the tub, naked except for his feet, and looked down. On his left foot was a brown dress sock, on his right....

Pete stared in amazement, his nakedness, his erotic dream, and the chill of the morning forgotten. On his right foot was the sock, the one from the storm drain. How? His mother must have found it, he supposed, tucked away in the bowels of his sweatshirt pocket. She had washed it and tucked it away with the other lonely souls. The sock was definitely black. He wiggled his toes and the small circles embedded on its silky surface rolled up and down like small white sea birds riding on crest of the ocean.

Pete turned on the shower and while he waited for the water to warm, sat on the toilet seat and removed his socks, first the brown one and then reluctantly, oh so very reluctantly, the other. When his right foot emerged into the cool morning air it started to cramp. Pete dropped the sock to the tile floor and gingerly rubbed his throbbing arch.

"Pete, are you all right?" his mother asked through the bathroom door. It wasn't like her son to get out of bed without being prodded.

Pete stared at the door, momentarily at a loss for words. He could hear the concern in her voice, but he felt strangely detached. "I'm fine, mom," he said at last. "I just woke up a little early, that's all."

His mother hesitated. Did she dare believe such a simple explanation? Perhaps he's starting to grow up, she told herself with a shrug. "Well, come down to breakfast when you're finished, honey," she said.

Pete continued to stare. "All right, mom," he said. He gave the sock one last glance and jumped into the shower. The warm water refreshed him, and washed away the night. Later, after he had finished dressing, he returned to the bathroom to toss his soiled clothes into the hamper where his mother would surely have them cleaned and neatly folded by the time he returned from school.

As he picked up the bundle, he felt his hand brush against the unmistakable fabric of the sock. He dropped the clothes and held the sock eye level. In the clear morning light he discovered that the sock's design were not circles at all. They were triangles. Perfect angles of remarkable beauty. Perfect, he thought. How so very perfect.

Throw the sock away, a thought warned him. After all, clean or not, you found the nasty thing in the gutter! Who knew who had worn it or where it had been? But instead of hiding it in the wastebasket along with his discarded math homework, Pete slid it hungrily on his right foot. He closed his eyes and sighed. "It is as it should be," he heard himself whisper.

Pete went to his dresser and quickly selected a matched pair of white socks and slipped them on his feet, protectively covering his beloved sock. Once in place he put on his Nikes and headed downstairs for breakfast with the growing feeling that this would be a special day.

Yes, a very special day.
****
"Peter Thompson?" Pete's math teacher, Mr. Biggs, called out. He was a funny looking man with a flat top haircut and a bow tie, a man stuck in some sort of time warp.

"Peter Thompson?" he asked again.

Pete was staring out the window, chin cupped in his hand, lost in his own world. When the rest of the class started to giggle, he looked around to see what the joke was. To his dismay, the joke was him.

"Are you with us today, Mr. Thompson, or have you gone off to some desert island?" Mr. Biggs asked.

"Yeah, more like Gilligan's Island!" Greg Miller cracked from the back of the room. "How's the professor, Pete?"

The entire class broke up laughing. Pete turned beet red. "I'm here, Mr. Biggs," he said quietly.

Mr. Biggs stared at him a moment longer and shook his head. "Andy Vincente?" he called out, continuing down the roster.

In spite of his morning revelation, it had all the makings of another depressing day at Westfield Middle School. But Pete was to soon discover that this day would be far from normal. It began with a surprise math quiz.

When Mr. Biggs announced the test, Pete's his heart sank. It wasn't as if he was dumb. If given enough paper and enough time, he could figure out his math problems, but fractions--they were just beyond him. He looked around the room nervously, sure that everyone could see his panic. His eyes eventually fell on the lovely but aloof Sharon Buckley, the object of his adolescent desire and the reinforcement that, so far, his life had been a dismal failure.

But to his surprise, instead of her normal reaction to him, a general ignoring of his existence altogether, Sharon was looking back at him. Her bright blue eyes were wide, her mouth pursed as if she were about to speak to him from across the rows that separated their desks. The look on her face unsettled him, but before Pete could analyze it, Mr. Biggs announced that the test was about to begin.

Pete reluctantly tore his eyes away from Sharon and stared blankly at the quiz sheet, his worst fears confirmed. Fractions. "Great!" he muttered under his breath. "Another "F" for my father to yell at me about!"

"Ten minutes, people," Biggs announced. "Complete as many was you can, and remember neatness counts!"

Pete gawked at the series of utterly mysterious problems. For a while he could do nothing except twirl his pencil between his nervous fingers, feeling flustered and confused. But as he stared helplessly at the page something odd occurred: patterns began to emerge within the numbers. Pete's eyes widened, his mouth fell open in disbelief. Why hadn't he seen them before? If you took this number and this number and added them together....

Pete's pencil slipped through his fingers, clanging noisily on the desk. For the first time the fractions seemed understandable. No, that wasn't right. They were more than understandable; they were ridiculously simple! He picked up the pencil and even though he only had a little more than a minute left, he dashed through the test with ease.

The rest of the hour was equally unbelievable. Why was he wasting his time and intellect on this crap? And Mr. Biggs? He was nothing but an ignorant pig! Pete could tell at a glance that the man knew nothing about real mathematics, or about the things that held the fabric of the universe together. By the time the bell rang, Pete Thompson was seething. No wonder he hadn't been doing well in school!

He stood from his desk and stopped. Sharon Buckley was standing in front of him. She was hugging her schoolbooks and looking at him apprehensively.

"Hello, Peter," she said timidly. It was the first time Pete ever remembered her speaking to him.

"Hello, Sharon," he replied, feeling eerily confident. The stammer he assumed would come from his mouth hadn't materialized.

"Peter, I'm having a party at my house on Friday. I was wondering if you would come?"

Party? You're inviting me to a party? That was what he wanted to ask her, but instead, he found himself saying something very different. "I'm busy Friday, Sharon. Too bad you didn't invite me earlier."

Pete's mind screamed at him. "What are you saying, you idiot!"

“Oh I'm sorry, Peter, please forgive me!" Sharon said with panic in her voice. "I meant to invite you earlier, I truly did!"

Pete was shocked to see tears forming in her eyes. She was extremely distressed, almost on the verge of hysteria.

"You must come!" she implored. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Must!" she repeated.

He looked at her through liberated eyes. How pathetic she was! Had he really been in love with this? Had she no pride? "I'll think about it, Sharon," he said with disdain. "I'll let you know."

"Oh thank you, Peter!" she said with relief "Thank you!"

That's right! Grovel, bitch, he said to himself. He gave her a contemptuous sneer and strolled confidently to his next class. As he passed his classmates congregated in the hallway, conversations stopped mid-sentence, lockers stood half opened, books dropped to the floor. They all stopped to watch him pass. The boys looked at him with sudden awe, and the girls--they had thoughts most had never even imagined before, visions of acts they only barely understood. There was something about Peter Thompson, something they could only whisper.

Pete's second period class was History. There, he led the class in a lively discussion, displaying an amazing knowledge of cultures that astounded his teacher, Mrs. Grasse. It was so wonderful to have a prodigy in her class! At the end of the hour she thanked Peter profusely and hoped he might be free later to discuss tomorrow's lesson.

Next, came gym. It was the first day of intramural basketball. Pete had regretted this day because he knew, as usual, he would be chosen last. The humiliation was almost too much to bear. But shortly after they lined up to play, Mr. Mangin suggested that Pete be named team captain, replacing a shocked Greg Miller. To Greg's dismay the other boys all agreed it was a good idea. The selection of Pete Thompson seemed a perfectly, logical choice, a choice no one would regret. Pete's performance, of course, was brilliant, playing the game with a perfect combination of ability, ferocity and finesse. Mr. Mangin went home that night positive that Pete Thompson would some day make it to the NBA.

After the game, Pete sat in front of his locker, enjoying the afterglow of his play. He spent a few minutes fielding the congratulations of the other boys, who were thrilled to be in the presence of a player of his ability. Eventually, they wandered off to the showers leaving Pete to his thoughts.

He removed his gym shoes and socks, revealing his beloved sock underneath. It was time to take it off, shower and get ready for the rest of this wonderful day. He examined the fabric closely. What he thought were triangles were not triangles at all. It was some sort of design, circles with lines through them. As he watched the design started to slowly move counterclockwise around the sock. Pete was mesmerized. The design gained speed, whirling against the sock's solid black background.

"How beautiful," he whispered.

It stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Pete stared for a moment longer, feeling let down, then reached to remove the sock.

"Don't!" a voice whispered in his mind. It was a harsh voice, evil. A voice that hinted of clogged sewers and a filthy death.

It would be ridiculous to shower with one sock on, Pete told himself, but when his trembling fingers touched the sock, pain streaked up his leg like a lightening bolt ending at his groin. Pete doubled over in agony, his watering eyes darting to the sock. He had only pulled it down an inch, but he didn't like what he saw. His ankle was raw as if he had been skinned. Veins stood out like the highways on a color road map.

"Pull me up, God damn it!" the voice demanded.

He opened his mouth but the scream he hoped would break the spell of pain refused to come. He could hear the other boys in the shower, talking loudly, laughing, ignorant of his anguish. Their voices sounded as if they were miles and miles away.

"Pull me up, fool! Now!"

With the last of his strength, Pete pulled up the sock. His leg felt as if it were on fire, but once the sock was in place, the pain vanished. Pete fell back to the bench, panting with relief when another sensation came, traveling up his ankle like the sun escaping from a storm cloud. Joy, euphoria, overtook him. It came in waves, erasing the memory of the pain, leaving him on the brink of ecstasy.

"I am meant to be!" he muttered to himself. "It was meant to be!"

"Hey, dickweed," a voice said.

Pete opened his eyes and saw Greg Miller staring at him. Greg was everything Pete Thompson was not. He had golden blond hair and striking blue eyes. His body was lean and muscled. He stood a full head taller than Pete, and played with the eighth graders on the Westfield Middle School basketball team.

"What's wrong, dickweed? Still stuck on Gilligan's Island?"

"Leave me alone, Greg," Pete said slowly. "I'm warning you!"

Greg waved his arms and looked around. "Oh! Oh! Someone protect me! The wimp is warning me!" He stopped and turned a complete circle. "Gee whiz, there's no one here to protect you, dickweed. It's just you and me."

Pete knew he should be scared out of his mind, but he felt strangely detached. As the bully ranted, he was amazed to see his right foot begin to rise--amazed because he was certain his brain was not giving the command.

It was the sock.

One moment, Greg Miller was standing in front of him, his face red with anger, the next moment Pete saw his leg lash out at Greg's crotch and kicked him ferociously. Greg gasped as if the air had been sucked out of him. He hit the ground and began to roll on the floor, his face a twisted mask of pain.

Pete watched him silently while calmly putting on his clothes. "The next time you will die," he said without a hint of emotion.

Greg looked up at Pete and saw something that he would remember the rest of his life. The whites of Pete's eyes had disappeared, replaced by black so total it was like staring into the depths of hell. For a second moment Greg was certain he would die. His bladder let go. He began to babble for mercy. But instead of killing him, Pete slowly stood and walked away, leaving Greg alone on the cold locker room floor.

The realization that he would live made the pain in Greg Miller's groin seem unimportant. He began to weep, and when the rest of the boys came out of the shower that was where they found him, lying in a pool of his own urine, refusing to talk to anyone.

There were now two Pete Thompsons. One walked to his science class reveling in his newly found greatness, while the other suffered from the growing realization that he was skidding down a path of evil. For a while he hoped that he could have the best of both worlds; be a whiz at math, play basketball with skill and courage, win the heart of Sharon Buckley, but he suspected it wouldn't be that simple. The sock wanted more, needed more than the simple yearnings of a twelve-year-old boy, and would do anything to get it. Pete knew that he was slowly losing control. Something in the sock he had so innocently found in the storm drain was taking over. And if he didn't do something about it soon, the old Pete would be gone forever.

What to do? What to do? Ah, that was the awful question. A question that had a ridiculously simple but dangerous answer--remove the sock. Did he dare? He remembered the agony in the locker room. What would happen if he summoned the courage to go all the way? If he ripped off the sock, would he also rip the flesh from his bones? Would freedom from the sock mean a life spent without his right foot?

"Oh, but you don't want to remove the sock, Pete!" the sock whispered in his ear. "I will show you things. I will help you achieve things you could never imagine! You will have it all, Pete. You will be the best! The brightest! The leader! The God!"

"NO!" Pete screamed out. He looked around, embarrassed. He was in his classroom, certain he was about to be laughed at again. But his classmates were not laughing. They were staring at him, adoring smiles frozen on their faces.

"Yes, Pete? Did I do something wrong?" his teacher, Mr. Doan, asked nervously. Anxiety was etched on his face. Anxiety and something else. Fear. "I did it just as you instructed, I swear. Do you know what you have done? It's gold son! Real gold! Do you know how many men have dreamt of this throughout the ages? Now, just tell me the last part of the formula and we'll be rich! Rich!"

But Pete wasn't listening. For a moment the spell that entwined him lifted. His head was fuzzy with a million thoughts, evil voices chattering in his brain. He looked into the anxious eyes of his classmates. Their gaze was full of love and admiration, but when Pete looked closer he saw something else: blank, cold loyalty. The eyes of the Nazis as they did the bidding of their fuehrer. The crazed mind of a serial killer. He saw the spirit of death and destruction. He saw the real face behind the sock.

With the last of courage and humanity left in him, Pete leaped from his seat and bolted from the room, running in blind panic down the echoing hallway, bursting out the side door of Westfield Middle School and into the cloudy day. Behind him he could hear Mr. Doan shouting for the rest of the formula. "Rich!" he babbled. "We'll be rich!"

Pete, the real Pete, didn't care about riches or power. For even with his faults, he knew deep inside his life was good; that he was loved, that he had place in that frightening adventure that is the future. But on this day felt as if his soul was being torn from his being. Death and madness was stalking him.

It was starting to rain lightly, but he didn't care. He ran and ran through the wet streets of the town hoping to find redemption.

"Go Back! Your destiny awaits you!" the sock echoed in his ears. Renewed agony flared up his leg.

Pete struggled to ignore the voice and the pain, but it was becoming harder and harder. If greatness was his destiny, why couldn't he just accept it? It would be so easy to give in for he had been chosen. Chosen by the sock. Given a chance never before offered to miserable mankind. He would become like God himself.

"Stop it Pete!" he screamed to himself. "Don't you listen! Don't you listen!"

He found himself near the city park and a desperate idea came to him. He knew what he had to do, if God granted him the courage to do it. The old Pete was dying and in a very short time would be gone forever. If he were to save himself, it had to be now. Lightening flashed as if to punctuate the point, and the rain turned into a howling downpour.

In the rear of the park, surrounded by a ten-foot high chain-link fence, was the entrance to Westfield's central storm sewer. It was here that the town's storm water was gathered before it was sent south of town to empty into the Green River. The huge drain was ten feet in diameter, and a raging current was being sucked into its dark depths.

Pete reached the fence and started to climb. Hail the size of marbles pelted his face. Half way up his feet betrayed him, and he slipped on the slick metal links. He fell to the ground with a grunt, but he was determined not to be defeated. He shot to his feet and with a single purpose climbed again, trying to blot all other thoughts from his mind. He had to be strong. He had to be brave and bold--like his beloved Spiderman.

But the sock refused to let him. As he climbed the fence he had a vision of a mathematical formula that could turn water into gasoline. As his leg went over the top he realized that he knew how to make nuclear waste inert. On the downward climb his mind designed an engine that could carry man to the stars and beyond.

"Stay strong, Pete! Don't listen! It lies! It lies!"

He fell to the ground panting--not out of physical exhaustion, but of mental overload--landing on the cement walkway that bordered the drain. Doubts ripped at him. Should he give in? He could use his knowledge to help mankind, he was certain!

"Power! You will have power!" the sock crowed.

"No, Pete! You will have power, but it will be the power to enslave not help!"

Pete grabbed his head and screamed. "God damn it! Leave me alone!"

To his surprise the voices stilled, and for the first time since his midnight raid to the sock drawer, his mind was clear. He looked down at his Nikes. As his shaking hand reached for the shoestring, his right foot began to throb in anticipation. Visions of Sharon Buckley once again came into his head. She was doing things, such delicious things.... Oh, God!

"No!" he screamed, shaking his head clear once again.

He fumbled with the shoelace but managed to untie it. The shoe seemed to be shrinking on his foot, getting tighter and tighter as it protected its silken master from harm. Pete thought he would pass out from the pain. With great effort he moved his left foot behind his right and began to pry off the shoe at the heal. The shoe grew tighter still. Pete pushed at the shoe, his face turning crimson with the strain. Waves of agony rolled up his leg, but he refused to let go. One way or another it had to end here. At last the shoe relented, flying off his foot, skittering across the walkway and falling over the embankment and into the torrent below.

Pete looked down at the sock, his vision blurred by pain and the raindrops splattering on his face. The designs embroidered on its surface were spinning, spinning. He began to feel woozy as the sock wove its hypnotic spell. He grabbed drunkenly at the sock. When he touched it a bolt of electricity jumped up his arm leaving it numb.

Pete pulled back, tears of pain mixing with his rain-soaked cheeks. His mind began to drift again and he knew he would soon be gone forever. He fell back to the ground and gathered the last of his remaining strength. The sock teased him; alternating pulses of blinding agony and pure ecstasy, flying over his body in waves, back and forth until he thought he would go mad.

"Sharon!" he muttered.

The part of Peter Thompson, the one that knew his fate in life was to be bad at math and basketball, took charge one last time. Like a person jolted back from death, Pete shot up and with both hands grabbed at the sock, and with his last remaining ounce of strength, Pete tore off the sock and hurled it into the boiling water.

Pete collapsed on the walkway, and as he lost consciousness, his last thought was that his foot was on fire, blazing like a road flare, or the eternal furnace of hell....

The sock tumbled into the water like a power line blasted by lightening. Sparks flew and smoke rose. The air filled with the pungent smell of ozone. But after a few seconds it was over. The sock now heavy with moisture, sank below the surface and drifted toward the drain where it entered the watery cave and disappeared.


Pete's eyes fluttered open. It had stopped raining. The sky was dark with the coming evening. For a few seconds he didn't know where he was. He turned his head one way, then the other. He was soaking wet and there was something else-- "Your foot is gone," his mind told him. It must be true. He had no feeling done there, only cold and numbness, but he was afraid to look. When he finally summoned his courage, he saw his bare foot, pale and cold, but in one piece.

Pete moaned with relief and peered over the side of the churning drainage ditch. The sock was gone. Where? Was it gone forever? Or would it do its evil to someone else, somewhere else?

Pete managed to stand and looked down at his bare foot. How would he ever explain to his mother how he had lost one shoe? With a shrug he hobbled to the fence and began to climb. The wire mesh hurt, but next to the torture inflected by the sock, it was nothing. He slowly limped home, realizing with a smile that he could no longer remember how to add and subtract fractions much less the grand inventions that could save or enslave mankind. He wondered, would Sharon Buckley still want him at her party?

And with a sigh, he reminded himself that it really didn't matter.