Richard Cox - House of the Rising Sun

The ironic thing was, until now, Larry himself had not been convinced. Until now his primary goal had been to strike blindly at Thomas. But this exchange between Seth and the wounded man raised the possibility that Skylar was right, that the pulse and everything after might be a dream, a story designed by the hand of an invisible writer, an external Thomas. How else to explain this unstable scene?

“Don’t you get it?” Larry said to Seth and the wounded man. “All of this is a story Thomas wrote and now we’re trapped in it. How else would you two have crossed paths?”

“Larry,” Skylar said. “I was lying to myself when I said that. I didn’t want to accept reality because I was afraid to die.”

“But you were right,” Larry said. “This whole scene proves it. And so does this awful ringing in my ears.”

“My ears are ringing, too,” said one of the men. “It’s like a bell trying to beat itself out of my brain.”

“This is what I’m talking about!” shouted Larry. “Thomas writes movies for Hollywood. His new screenplay is about a pulse, and this is that story come to life.”

He moved his arms upward in an exaggerated way to emphasize the magnitude of his claim.

“Larry,” said Thomas, as if to a child. “If you and Aiden both hear the same ringing sound, maybe it’s something to do with the pulse. Like a physical problem in the brain.”

“I hear it, too,” Natalie blurted. “I’ve been hearing it since the first day.”

And that’s when Larry remembered reading, months or years ago, an article about the discovery and mapping of magnetic particles in human brains. Possibly they were genetic remnants of some long-lost navigation system, similar to that of birds. Could the pulse have damaged these particles? Reoriented them? Reversed their polarity?

The problem was this explanation did not line up with the story he wanted to believe. Larry had always considered himself a victim. Ever since he was a little boy, ever since those awful nights in the shadows, when his father’s hand had reached—

And that’s when he felt it, the cognitive split, as if his sanity were a branch broken in two. His mind went blank as he reached for Skylar. His arm found its way around her neck. He pushed his pistol against her temple.

Skylar screamed and thrashed. The boys screamed. Natalie grabbed her sons and ran into the darkness of warehouse shelving.

“Larry,” Thomas said. “Aiden and Natalie hear it, too. It’s not your fault. It’s the pulse. It’s done something to you. Put the down the gun.”

Before Larry could answer, he heard an odd sound on his right. Something like a laugh or a cough or a cry. He turned his head in the direction of the noise and saw Aiden, eyes open wide, smiling like someone who’d also lost his bearings.

He was cradling a military rifle. A machine gun. He raised it perceptibly.

He fired.

The rifle kicked in my arms. The sound of it was enormous, echoing around the DC for what seemed like forever. Billy and his tough-looking friend went sprawling. Both of them hit the concrete floor and smeared blood like a couple of sponges.

Outside, the sound of the crowd swelled in response to the gunshots. If I didn’t head for the roof now, I never would.

“Put down your weapons!” I yelled. “Every one of you, put your guns on the ground or I will open fire.”

Larry looked at me defiantly.

“I’m taking Thomas and Skylar outside,” he said. “I want to show those people why they’re here. I want Thomas to pay for doing this to us.”

I could have shot him. With my automatic weapon, I could have shot them all in seconds. But Larry’s charade, I realized, might delay the crowd long enough for me to reach the roof. And I’m not going to lie: It intrigued me to consider all this a film scene, the climactic conclusion of my extraordinary life. I was a special man meant for special things, even if no one else had ever acknowledged as much.

“Remove the clip from your weapon,” I said to Billy’s remaining friend. “Then remove their clips as well.”

I pointed to the dead bodies.

“Toss the clips out that door. Throw them as far as you can. Seth, pick up your gun and throw it out the door. Throw Thomas’ out the door. I don’t want complications. I have work to do.”

When I was confident I wouldn’t be shot, at least not right away, I backed away from them, toward the warehouse door. As soon as I fell into shadows, I turn and ran.

The noise of the crowd continued to swell. Near the exit, from my hidden stash of weapons and ammunition, I grabbed two extra clips and stuffed them into my pants. It was all I could carry for the moment.

As I climbed the stairs, I devised a story to tell Paige. She was already approaching when I reached the roof, holding a handgun at waist level that looked ready to fire.

“What the hell happened down there?”

“There was an argument among the new people. Two men are down. The crowd is coming. Anthony wants everyone to leave and needs you inside the warehouse to provide cover. I’m supposed to fire warning shots from up here.”

“What good will it do to fire warning shots?”

“To stop the crowd long enough for you guys to get away.”

“What about you?” she said. “Will you leave or just go full Alamo?”

“I’ll be fine. I like to go it alone.”

“I can’t put my finger on it,” she said, “but something is off about you. Like you have no empathy. Like you’re not even human.”

These words were meant to provoke a response, but I didn’t take the bait. I kept my eye on the prize.

Eventually Paige backed away and lowered herself onto the ladder. She watched me carefully, but she needn’t have worried. I respected Paige too much to shoot her.

When she was on the ground, I scrambled toward the front of the roof and peered over the edge. The crowd had grown more belligerent. They were reacting to something near the fence line. Something I couldn’t see.

Then it hit me. The woman who looked so familiar was a famous actress. The blonde chick in Darkest Energy. Skylar Stover.

Larry had taken her outside to prove his claim that all this was a film.

And maybe he was right. Maybe my imminent scene was the climax.

I surveyed the crowd until I found the woman from before, the fat one in red. The one whose shirt read I’M A LUCKY DEVIL.

I shouldered my weapon.

Placed my finger on the trigger.

Natalie kept seeing the image of Billy and Miguel going down in a heap. She kept hearing the machine gun, the staccato roar of it, which was an evil sound, like industrial human death. But clutching each of her legs was a seven-year-old boy even more terrified than her, and love for Ben and Brandon had focused her mind. She had to get them out of this warehouse. It was the only thing that mattered. The problem was Aiden, the man with the awful eyes, who had run by only moments before. She didn’t know where he was.

Seth and Tim were still in the open area of the warehouse. Larry had taken Skylar and Thomas hostage. Natalie didn’t want to leave the others behind, but if forced to pick, her allegiance was to her sons. What she needed was a sign or sound to know if Aiden was nearby or long gone.

She would have expected the ringing in her ears to hinder her ability to hear, but instead it seemed to isolate actual sounds. Because now she could hear soft footsteps. Like someone creeping forward on the balls of her feet, trying to mask the sound of her approach. Natalie realized she could almost smell the person coming. It was the woman from the roof. The sniper.

“Paige!” Natalie whispered loudly. “Is that you?”