Variance - Book 2: The Others - Issue #1

“The planets are bells on his motley

He fleers at the stars in their state,

He banters the suns burning hotly—

The Jester whose nickname is Fate.

The lanterns that kindle their rays with

The comets, are food for his mirth;

But, oh, how he laughs as he plays with

His mad little bauble, the Earth!”

                           --Arthur Guiterman

                             “Fate, The Jester”

I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you

When I sit alone or wake at night, alone

I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again

I am to see to it that I do not lose you

                           --Walt Whitman

                             “To A Stranger”

Rhinelander, Wisconsin

Day 32 of The Rise

   “Hannah.”

   A mutter.

   “Hannah…Sweetheart, you have to get up.”

   Hannah Phillips woke feeling as if the voice had been trying to rouse her for hours.  Her sleep that night had been restless and dream-filled.  One dream, in particular, she and her brother, Harry, climbed into a storm drain where there were small creatures with webbed feet climbing on the pipe’s ceilings.  All she and Harry had was a small flashlight and when he turned it on, she saw one of the creatures hanging upside down, its razor sharp teeth gleaming at her in the light.  Its eyes were fantastically red, and they were so close together it looked almost cycloptic.  The creature leapt at her and, right before she woke up, it unlocked its jaw and sunk its teeth into her neck.  But it was, as they say, just a dream.

   “Hannah, come on, honey, please get up.”

   Her eyes opened and she saw her father, Bill, holding a candle very near her face.  The light was so bright she, in her haze, thought it was the morning sun slipping its way through the Venetian blinds.  But when her eyes adjusted she realized it was still dark.  She sat up and faced her father.

    Bill Phillips was a brawny man.  His wide shoulders were like the cab of a pickup truck and his square jaw seemed chiseled from granite.  His biceps were the width of Hannah’s neck and, in this candlelight, his brown eyes looked an almost charcoal black.

   “What is it, Daddy?” she asked rubbing the sleep from her eyes.  “What happened?”

   “Things have gotten worse.”

   “Worse?”

   “Much worse.”

   “What’s going on?”

   “Honey, listen, they’ve gotten past the town line and broken through the barriers, and…”  He paused, considering the information readying on his lips.  

   “Yes, Daddy?”

   “They’re here,” was all he said.

   Any remnant of sleep in her head was suddenly gone.

   “We have to get out of here.”

   “Where’s Harry?”

   “Loading the truck,” he told her.  “Come on, get dressed.”

   Bill moved the candle from her face and stood up.  The flame flickered under his chin, and, for the first time in her life, she saw fear in her father’s eyes.  He turned his back to her and began pacing about the room.  “The Variants…they…” his voice trailed away and then he said steadily, “Jim Terry and his wife are dead.  Mayor Rigby, too.”  Hannah could almost reach out and touch his exasperation.  “The whole goddamn town is falling apart.”

   “How do you know?”

   “Stevie Kohler told us.  He’s outside helping your brother.”

   “Where are the rest of the Kohler’s?”  Hannah asked. 

   He didn’t answer, nor did he have to.  He ran his stubby fingers through his thinning hair and let out a long sigh.  “Please, just hurry on up, all right?”

   “Where are we going?”

   “No more questions, just get a move on.”  Bill Phillips left, taking the candle with him.