David Morrell - The Shimmer

“Not only that,” Tori said, “I don’t see any headlights. There was a whole line of traffic a couple of minutes ago. Now the road’s invisible. And the helicopters-I don’t see their lights anymore, either.”

“Their radio transmissions have stopped,” Page told her, puzzled.

Below them, a fireball suddenly illuminated the darkness. Two other explosions followed. Startled, Page saw the twisting impact of a helicopter crashing onto vehicles at the side of the road, its distant rumble reaching him. Huge chunks of metal flipped along the ground. The spreading flames revealed specks of people racing away in panic.

“God help them,” Tori murmured.

Shock waves bumped the plane.

“Maybe we should head back,” Page managed to say.

“No, it can’t be a coincidence. Somehow what’s happening down there has to be connected to the lights. We came up here to do something-if we don’t finish this now, I don’t think I’ll ever have the strength to try it again.” Tori paused. “I want to find the truth.”

“Whatever you want,” Page assured her. “We’re in this together.”

“Yes.” Tori savored the word. “Together.”

Avoiding the updraft of the flames and debris, Page flew south to- ward the murky horizon.

“What are those dark lumps ahead?” Tori asked.

“The Badlands.”

Tori pointed. “Something’s beyond them.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“Faint red lights. Three of them.”

Page concentrated. “I still don’t see them.”

“They’re getting brighter.”

“Where are they coming from? Give me a heading.”

Tori looked at the indicator. “One hundred and forty degrees.”

“All I see is blackness.”

“They’re dividing. They’re even brighter now. They’re changing from red to blue and green and yellow. How can you possibly not see them?”

“Maybe if I went lower.”

“They’re dividing again.”

Page eased back on the throttle. The aircraft gradually descended, the sinking, floating sensation reminding him of what he felt when he saw the lights.

Except that this time, he didn’t see them.

“So many now. They’re like a rainbow rippling across the ground,” Tori said, her voice strange. “They’re moving toward the observation area.”

“I’m as open as I can possibly be. Why can’t I see them?”

As Page descended farther toward the darkness, all at once he did see the lights. It was as if a veil had dissolved, but the colors weren’t rippling the way Tori had described.

They writhed in anger.

“Something’s wrong.” Page shoved in the throttle and raised the nose.

A yellow filament shot up, like a flare from a solar storm. It lengthened until it snapped free, condensing into a twisting mass that sped higher.

Climbing, Page banked to the right.

The light kept coming.

He banked to the left.

The light did the same.

Transparent, iridescent, pulsing, it suddenly filled the cockpit. Page could no longer hear the plane’s engine. Instead he heard a rushing wind. Shades of yellow swirled around him. Images flickered.

He saw an aquarium filled with wavering plants and a model of a shipwreck, but the plants were actually cuttlefish, their tentacles resembling ferns, and parts of the shipwreck were more cuttlefish that had cleverly camouflaged themselves to match their surroundings.

And now his father was pointing toward more and more cuttlefish, and his mother, who would die from breast cancer within the year, was smiling because her husband and son were getting along for a change.

And Page heard a voice within the rushing air. It was his father.

“Sometimes we need to learn to see in a new way.”

The engine stopped.

The yellow vanished.

Without warning, Page found himself in darkness, his night vision blunted by the residual image of the light. He strained his eyes, desperate to see out through the canopy. With relief, he found that the difference between the glow of the stars and moon above him and the darkness below him was enough for him at least to identify the horizon.

The ground straight ahead seemed darker than the areas around it. Lumpy.

Page frantically realized that, trying to escape the pursuing light, he’d become disoriented and turned the aircraft toward the Bad- lands. The silence was dismaying. Normally his headphones muffled the sound of the engine, reducing it to a drone. But now he heard nothing.

The instrument panel was dark. The radio was dead.

His father had told him repeatedly what to do in case of an engine failure. The first thing was to put the aircraft into a glide. At a speed of sixty-five knots, the Cessna would lose a thousand feet for every nine thousand feet that it glided. In theory, this provided enough time to choose a location for an emergency touchdown-ideally a field, or even a road. During the day, the options would be visible, but in the dark, it wasn’t possible to know if a stretch of blackness was grass or rocks or a chasm.

At least the moon and the stars made the dark lumps of the Bad- lands look different from the flatness around them. Page kept the Cessna gliding at what he could only estimate was sixty-five knots. With the airspeed indicator not visible, he needed to rely on the feel of the aircraft, on thousands of hours of judging how it handled at various speeds.

They continued to drop.

“Tori, make sure your seat belt’s tight! Just before we touch down, open your door! The impact of landing might twist the fuselage and wedge the door shut!”

He decided not to add, And trap you inside.

To minimize the possibility of a fire, Page twisted the fuel selector dial to the off position, sealing the fuel lines. The closer they got to the ground, the more his eyes worked sufficiently for him to distinguish the lumps of the Badlands.

Tori saw them, too.

“Will we clear them?” she shouted.

“That’s the plan.”

“A damned good one.”

The Cessna glided lower. Time stretched. A minute felt like forever.

“My skin feels burned,” Tori said.

Page frowned, touching his cheek. “So does mine.”

“I saw my father,” she said.

“What?”

“When the light swirled around us, I saw my father. I was a little girl. He was dragging me to the car. I hit him, trying to get away so I could look at the lights.”

“I saw my father, too.”

The dark ground sped closer.

“I love you,” Tori said.

“I love you.”

The boulders loomed.

“Brace yourself.”

Skimming over the Badlands, Page thought he felt a wheel strike something. At once the uneven darkness was gone, replaced by what seemed to be grassland. But anything could be under the Cessna- rocks that would snap the wheels and flip the aircraft, or a fence that could do the same thing.

They were over the old military airbase, Page realized. Floating, he tried to hold off landing as long as possible, not only because that made for a theoretically softer impact but because as long as they were still in the air, they remained alive.

He couldn’t help thinking about the unexploded bombs below him.

Blood dripped from Halloway’s nostrils. He stopped dancing long enough to wipe the back of his right hand across his mouth. Seeing the red liquid on his knuckles, he felt troubled, but only for a moment. That blood didn’t matter anymore than the blood trickling from his ears did.

The woman in his arms mattered.

The glass of vodka and orange juice, always full-that mattered.

Most of all, the music mattered. Halloway remembered his youthful dreams of becoming a rock star, of having the world at his feet, of being able to give orders and do anything he wanted. He’d practiced with his guitar until his fingers had calluses. He’d written song after song. He’d followed rock bands from city to city, doing his best to be indispensable, buying drugs for them, getting girls for them, trying to persuade them to listen to his songs and maybe record them and maybe even let him sing in the background because good buddy Earl deserved repayment for all the favors he’d done.