Mark Rogers - The Dead

Why? Dunk thought dazedly. Why this way?

Vomit spewed up from his belly, but couldn’t break through the plug; the pressure was horrendous. It seemed he was going to explode. He tried to cough, but felt as if all the muscles in his throat had burst. His eyes rolled up and closed.

He was dimly aware of his attacker shifting. There was a sound like a spade being driven into the earth beside him; was the trooper grabbing another handful?

Momentarily Dunk sensed something rushing toward his face, and the fist rammed into his toothless maw again, driving the first handful in further, depositing a second for good measure.

The trooper pulled his hand out slowly. Duncan writhed and gagged. His eyes bulged open. He could practically feel the blood vessels popping in them.

The trooper leaned forward, pushing his face down near Duncan’s, close enough for Duncan to see it clearly.

The horror of that sight was almost enough to make his strangulation seem trivial.

He tried to scream, but no sound could force its way through his throat. He jerked his head aside, trying to look away. His assailant grabbed his face and forced him to stare upward. Duncan snapped his eyes shut. Keeping them shut was the only thing that mattered now.

Apparently unwilling to expend the effort to pry them open, the man rose.

Duncan drifted toward death, his oxygen-starved brain lulled by a strangely peaceful thought: at least he’d never have to see that face again.

“Wrong again, Dunk,” said the trooper.

The words seemed to push Duncan over the edge. For a moment there was blissful nothingness.

Then he saw the green glow.

And the bodies raining into the pit.

And the wheels within wheels.

Lying in bed Thursday morning, Gary pondered what he’d seen- thought he’d seen-the previous night. Insane stuff, definitely booze-induced.

True, he’d never hallucinated under the influence before, and it hadn’t seemed he’d downed all that much. But what other explanation could there be?

Linda was already up and around. It was, after all, nearly ten. Gary had slept well past eight; that had been the scotch, certainly. Somewhat nauseated, he got up, put on his bathrobe, and went out to see what Linda was doing.

She was in the kitchen eating breakfast, bacon and scrambled eggs. The smell of it hung heavy in the air. Normally it would have been delicious, but Gary could barely take it.

“Hi, hon,” she said, looking up. “Hangover?”

“Bit.” He looked out into the living-room, where his brother was reading a paper.

“Man,” Max said, tossing it.

“What now?” Gary asked.

“Lot of blackouts, mostly in the Southeast and Midwest. Satellites are going on the fritz too. I could hardly watch Jane-”

“I take no one’s called,” Gary broke in.

“About Mom? No.”

“You talk with the cops?”

“Twice. Nothing.”

“Shit.”

“They’ve got their hands full anyway.”

“More disappearances?”

“Train wreck.”

“ Train wreck?”

“Redeye from Atlantic City. The Squankum Bridge didn’t close completely. Ten cars went into the river. They don’t even know how many people are dead.”

Gary shook his head. “First that plane-”

“Just wait,” Max went on. “It gets better. The bridge keeper was strangled .”

“So…it was a deliberate wreck? “

“Looks like it. And get this. Some of the keeper’s fingers were bitten off.” Max’s eyes gleamed with perverse relish.

“Was this on the Today Show?”

Max nodded. “Wild, huh? Bayside Point on the national news, two days in a row…They want to keep the train stiffs separate from the plane stiffs, so they’re stacking ‘em in the Elk’s Hall this time-”

“Instead of the high school gym?”

“Right.”

“Do they have any idea why the plane crashed? Why all those planes crashed?”

“They were all overdue for maintenance, apparently. Still-”

“One hell of a coincidence-”

“Could you talk about something else?” Linda demanded.

“You’re not interested?” Max asked.

“I’m feeling kind of shell-shocked right now. You might enjoy hearing about some poor guy getting his fingers bitten off-”

Max laughed. “Yeah, guess I do.”

“Well, I guess I’m just stupid, but things like that really disturb me.”

“Okay.”

“And hearing about all those people dying makes me feel hopeless. Completely hopeless. Like things will never return to normal. Like there isn’t a chance Mom’ll ever turn up again.”

“Oh come on.”

“It’s just the way I feel, that’s all.”

“What could that have to do with those plane crashes?”

“I was thinking more about the train.”

“You really think there’s some kind of connection?”

“The wreck was deliberate.”

“Yeah…”

“And Mom might have been kidnapped, or something-”

“Or something.”

“-along with all those other people who disappeared… I mean, how many crimes do you get in two days in a town like Bayside Point?”

“Why leave it at Bayside Point?” Max asked. “What about everyone who’s disappeared? Everywhere ?”

“What about them?”

“Is there a kidnapping ring?”

“I don’t know-”

“A national kidnapping ring?”

“Stop it!”

“And they wreck trains too?”

“Well,” Linda said, “What’s your explanation?”

“For?”

“The disappearances?”

“ Just them? Not the train and plane stuff?”

“Not the train and plane stuff.”

Max laughed. “Didn’t say I had one.”

There was a pause. After a time, Linda asked quietly: “What if it’s all connected?”

“What?”

“The crashes, the power failures, the disappearances…”

“Don’t forget those dreams!” Max said. “That was pretty strange, right? Three people having the same dream?”

“ It wasn’t just us, ” Linda answered. “Did you see that article in the paper?”

“No,” Max said.

“‘Coincidental Dreams a Puzzle.’ Only it turns out not everyone woke up. Some people heard their sentences.”

Max laughed again. “What was it? All guilty?”

“As a matter of fact-”

“You mean,” Gary said, “That all these people had that Last Judgment dream?”

“Hey, it was in the paper-”

“How many people?”

“Five hundred. Called at random. And every single one of them had it.”

Max picked the paper up again.

“Well, what do you think?” Linda asked after a while.

“I think,” Max answered, “That things aren’t necessarily connected, just because they’re weird.”

“Sure. There’s just an outrageous amount of weirdness happening at once.”

“Doesn’t prove anything. I sure hope you argue more skillfully in your articles.”

“I’ve published a hell of a lot more than you,” she answered.

Max flinched.

“Who’s the one with tenure?” she pressed.

“Oww.”

“At a real university?”

Max clutched his chest. “Stabbed through the heart!”

“I know I’ve been sounding pretty nutty,” Linda admitted. “It’s just that I’ve been getting some very creepy vibes.”

“So nothing’s ever going to get better again?”

“Don’t you ever get creepy vibes?”

“Would it make you happier if I got freaked too?”

“Hell no ,” she said. Getting up, she took her dishes over to the sink and put them in, then stood awhile silently, leaning on the Formica counter.