D. MacHale - Storm

“These are the exact coordinates that were being broadcast,” Jon replied defensively.

“Maybe the survivors are living in those trailers we passed,” Olivia said hopefully.

“If they are, there aren’t many of them,” Kent said. “I hope we didn’t come all the way out here just to hook up with twelve yahoos looking to get even.”

“I’ll look inside the building,” I offered. “Maybe there’s a message or instructions or—”

“I hear something,” Tori interrupted.

We all listened. The sound was faint at first, but it grew quickly. After spending so much time in silence over the past few weeks, it was easy to hear an alien sound because every sound was alien.

“Engines,” I said. “More than one.”

“At least it’s not music from the sky,” Kent said.

The engine sounds grew louder. Whatever it was, it was headed our way.

“What should we do?” Olivia asked nervously.

“Get back in the car,” I ordered.

“No!” Tori countered. “This is what we came for. Whatever it is, we’re going to face it.”

There was a tense silence, then Olivia said meekly, “I wouldn’t mind waiting in the car.”

“Then go!” Tori snapped at her.

Olivia went right for the Volvo and got in, but she kept her face pressed to the window to keep an eye on what was about to unfold.

A cloud of dust was being kicked up on the road behind us. Something was definitely coming in.

“I’m getting kind of nervous,” Jon said. “Should we be prepared to defend ourselves?”

“You have your gun, Tori?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t pull it out unless you think we’re done. We have no idea how well they’re armed.”

“Or who they are,” Jon added.

“I’m not an idiot,” Tori said.

“Motorcycles,” Kent announced. “Harleys.”

As soon as he said that, several motorcycles rounded an outcropping of rock and thundered toward us. I counted ten. “Look!” Jon said, pointing to a ridge behind the visitor’s center.

There were four people on horseback looking down on us. They were dressed in jeans and cotton shirts: civilian clothes. It looked like there were four men, but any of them could easily have been a woman. It was hard to tell because they were all wearing cowboy hats.

“Hey!” I called. “Who are you?”

The four didn’t answer, or budge. They sat on their horses, silently watching.

The motorcycles roared into the parking lot and turned directly toward us. These people didn’t look like military types either. Some wore leathers, like typical bikers. Others had more colorful, outdoorsy jackets and jeans. They all wore full helmets that covered their faces. They definitely weren’t wearing uniforms of any sort, which was a relief. They also didn’t look to be carrying weapons, which was an even bigger relief.

The bikers rode up and circled us. We huddled closer to the Volvo. It was the only protection we had, and having strangers on motorcycles surrounding us in the middle of the desert was definitely intimidating. They formed a tight circle around us.

“I think we’ve just been trapped,” Jon said.

They continued to circle us until one of the riders raised his hand and they all came to a stop. They didn’t kill their engines. All the riders straddled their bikes and looked at us.

“We come in peace!” Kent shouted, holding up his open palm.

“Shut up, Kent,” I snapped.

I took a few steps toward the rider who had given the command to stop. I made sure that I held my hands out to show that I wasn’t hiding anything.

Unlike Tori.

“We’ve come a long way,” I said. “We heard the radio broadcast. Was that you?”

They continued to stare at us. At least I think they were staring. It was hard to tell because their faces were hidden by the helmet visors.

“We’re from Pemberwick Island in Maine,” I called out. “Who are you?”

The lead rider’s response was to reach into his saddlebag… and pull out a pistol.

“Gun!” Kent shouted.

Tori went for hers too late. All the riders pulled out their own guns with practiced precision. It was so quick we didn’t have the chance to defend ourselves. Or run.

The bikers aimed and fired.

I had never been shot before, so I didn’t know what to expect. I was hit in the chest and knocked back against the Volvo. I thought it would hurt more. That’s exactly what went through my mind.

I looked toward Tori to see that she had been hit too. She slid down the door of the Volvo and crumpled onto the asphalt. Her gun was on the ground, out of reach.

The window of the Volvo shattered. Olivia screamed but was abruptly cut off. She’d been hit too. We’d all been hit. The gunmen knew what they were doing. We didn’t stand a chance.

The world began to spin. The horizon turned sideways. My knees went weak, and I slumped to the ground. My last thought before losing consciousness was that it was such a beautiful park to be a gate to hell.

Black.

I couldn’t tell if I was awake or asleep or dead.

My head hurt, which was good. As far as I knew, dead people didn’t get headaches.

I felt as though I was coming out of a coma, not that I’d ever done that, but I imagined that’s what it was like. I was disoriented with nothing to see but… nothing.

My senses started coming back online, though there wasn’t much input for them to work with. I was lying on something soft. That much I understood. I tried to stand up, but my right leg wouldn’t move. I thought maybe I was paralyzed and started to panic. The fear got my heart pounding and my blood pumping, which helped clear my head.

I tried to move my leg again and realized there was nothing wrong with it. I couldn’t move because I was shackled. My right leg was chained to the floor.

At least I wasn’t dead.

“Tori!” I called. “Kent?”

I was in a big room. That much I could tell from the echo of my voice. As my wits returned, I remembered getting shot and realized I hadn’t been hit with a bullet. The bikers must have fired tranquilizer darts. I felt the area of my chest that had been hit, and it was definitely sore.

“Hey!” I shouted. “I’m awake. Why am I chained up?” A light appeared high in the air. I couldn’t tell how big it was or how far away because I had no other frame of reference.

The light slowly grew more intense as it warmed up, and I realized that it was a spotlight that had its beam directed somewhere behind me. I rolled over to see what was being lit up and nearly screamed.

I was lying below a giant face.

The thing must have been twenty feet high. It was the face of a woman, based on the puckered, painted lips. The skin was unnaturally white and smooth, which made me realize it wasn’t living. The eyes and nose were covered by an ornate silver mask. Attached to the top of the mask and jutting above it were several tall blue and gold triangles that came to points another twenty feet above the face. Each point was topped with a large, golden jingle bell the size of a basketball. Similar blue and gold points circled below the face like a collar. The silver mask itself was intricately decorated with looping detail that looked like waves. There was a half moon on the forehead and something that looked like an ancient boat. Its eyes were closed, thank god.

Once I caught my breath, I realized it was a carnival mask… a very big carnival mask on a very big statue of a face of a very big woman. It appeared to be nestled in a bed of ornate greenery. “What’s your name?” an amplified woman’s voice boomed from the general direction of the mask.

If the lips had moved or the eyes opened, I probably would have passed out again. Thankfully it wasn’t the big head talking.