Variance - Book 1, Issue #13

Potawatomi Woods, Wheeling, IL

Day 18 of The Rise

   It would not be the commotion that would startle Annie Walker awake.  She had fallen asleep an hour before sundown.  The rest of the hut was still milling about, but exhaustion finally took her.  There were no dreams to speak of, no night terrors, just darkness.  The darkness, though, was interrupted when she felt a hot, putrid breath tickling the side of her face.  She opened her eyes, curious of the source.

   When her eyes adjusted, she saw the demonic gaze of Crowley staring down at her.  His fingers were caked in blood, with continuing splotches on his neck and chest.  There was no longer any warmth in his eyes.  He looked as though somebody had replaced his heart with a couple of double A batteries.

   “Crowley?” she said.  But the Crowley she had met on that Humvee was no longer there.

   The sound of her voice set him off like a branded horse.  He yanked at her arms and lifted her from the cot in one swift motion.

   She let out a shrill scream and he slammed the back of her head against the wall.  The room spun and a steady stream of blood ran down the back of her neck.  The haze from her eyes lifted and she saw, behind Crowley, two dozen dead bodies scattered throughout the hut.  Some victims had limbs that were torn clean off.  Others were missing throats, chins, and eyeballs.   Near the door, Annie saw Crowley’s daughter, Lauren, lying amongst the corpses.  Her eyes were closed and her hands were resting on her chest.  Death came quickly for her.

   Next to her was Porter.  He had not been as lucky.  His right arm had been ripped from its socket and his jawbone was lying eighteen inches in front of him.  He looked like some ghastly painting that had not yet been finished.  

   Always Ready, Always There?  Sadly, no more, Mr. National Guard.

   Though it was missing three of its fingers, there was a CB radio still clutched in Porter’s left hand.

   “Crowley, what did you do?” 

   He grunted and slammed her against the wall again.  He let out a long, deep gasp of air and Annie felt the stink of it.  She tried to turn her head away, but he grabbed hold of her chin and snatched her back, gazing at her with curious eyes.  Crowley somehow seemed different now, almost inquisitive.  It was as if he had just been asked a riddle and couldn’t construct an answer.

   Two coins add up to twenty-five cents.  One of them is not a nickel.  What are these two coins?

   He tilted his head to the right, didn’t like what he saw, then tilted his head to the left.  His curiosity went on for days.  

   Two coins add up to twenty-five cents, damn it, and one of those coins is not a nickel.  What are these two coins?  WHAT ARE THESE TWO COINS, YOU SON OF A BITCH?

   “Crowley, listen, I don’t know what you did—“

   He hit her across the face, splitting her lower lip.  The blood was minimal, but it hurt like hell.  He hit her again, this time just for good measure.  

   Don’t interrupt me while I’m trying to solve you, his eyes screamed.  WHAT ARE THESE TWO COINS?

   In Annie’s back pocket she could feel the stiff cardboard of her son’s birthday card pressing against her buttocks.  She slid her hand behind her, hoping Crowley wouldn’t notice.  He didn’t.  His eyes were unblinking on hers.  She slipped the card out of her pocket.

   “What are you?” Crowley finally asked.  His words were staggered, but clear.  “What…Are…You?”

   She stared back at him uncomprehendingly.

   What am I?  She hadn’t the slightest idea what he meant.  He seemed repulsed by her, yet, strangely captivated. 

   “Air strike commencing in thirty seconds.  Porter, you get those people out of there?  Copy?”  The words echoed out of Porter’s CB radio with such a graveness Annie momentarily forgot about the birthday card in her hand.

   “Twenty-five seconds!  Porter, status?”

   Annie squeezed the card with her thumb against the base of her index finger and raised it up.  Crowley didn’t notice, his attention was fixed on her eyes.

   “What are you?” he demanded.  “What are you?  What are you?  What are you?”  Crowley was screaming.  He blinked and Annie saw two red rings form around his eyes.

   “Air strike in twenty seconds,” the voice boomed. 

   Annie swung the birthday card through the air.  The corner of it sliced through Crowley’s right eye producing a quick squishing sound.  

   SPPPPPLOSCH!  Crowley’s red-ringed eye screamed.

   He fell back, tripping over one of the bodies.  Though, he didn’t screamed.  He clutched his socket as the sclera dissolved into a mixture of blood and puss.  Crowley writhed on the ground, kicking his feet against one of the bodies, but, still, he didn’t scream.  

   “Ten seconds.”  The voice turned ominous.  “Porter, do you read me?”

   Annie jumped over Crowley, the birthday card dripping blood.  He reached for her, but the laces of her untied shoes slipped through his fingers.  

   “Five seconds!”

   She looked back in time to see Crowley getting to his feet.  What are the coins, for the love of God?  His eyes were desperate, longing for answers.  But Crowley made no move to run after her, he only stood there, stoic and calm.

   “Three, two…”

   Annie threw open the door and heard the jets fly over.  There was the quick surge of air as the missiles disengaged and shot through the night sky.  Then, the hut caved in around her like a dying star.  Its brittle beams thudded against the fragile sheetrock and her last thought was of Crowley.  She imagined the roof as it turned him into splatters of gore.  She thought of the way he looked at her with such child-like curiosity.  She thought of the frustration in his eyes. 

   A nickel and a dime, she thought as the darkness consumed her.  

   A nickel and a dime.

   When she would wake, four months later, Annie would be met by the panicked eyes of Enrique Valenzuela, Captain Richard Blake, Lara Holliday, and Martin Knight.

   The Variants would chase them into the clearing all wondering the same question.  What are you, Ms. Walker.  What. Are. You?