Whitley Strieber - The Omega Point

Dryden stood where Linda had stood, his face raised, screaming rage at the sky.

David heard a cry from inside, and he recognized the voice instantly, and he forgot everything, and ran back in.

Caroline stood before her empty easel, her face in her hands. The easel itself was just a frame with tatters of canvas around the edges.

In the way that people sharing a tragedy will, Mack laid an arm on her shoulder. She shrugged him off, but he persisted, and finally she leaned against him and sobbed.

“There are more materials,” Susan Denman said.

“Where are they?” Mack asked. “I’ll help you.”

“Caroline,” Susan said, “why don’t we go to the supply room together, you can pick out what you need.”

When Mack started to follow, David called him back.

“Mack, I want you to remain in sight of staff at all times.”

“Of course.”

He was suspicious of Mack. Of course, there was no proof of anything, but when you added this patient up, you got a sum that was wrong.

Looking out across the bizarrely colored landscape, David knew that this new light would affect the human brain profoundly. Serotonin, dopamine—all the neurotransmitters—were light dependent, and this radically different wavelength—violet—would have the effect of intensifying and changing not only colors, but also the mind and heart. Colors you could see, but what it might be doing to brain chemistry he could scarcely imagine.

Again there were shots, but this time they were so close that David instinctively ducked. Mack hurried back to the door, and David followed.

“Katie,” he called behind him, “get the patients upstairs, keep them away from the windows.”

As Mack opened the door, David saw movement around the side of the house, and a figure backed into view. He was concentrated on whatever scene was unfolding before him. In his hands there was some sort of a gun, David did not know what sort. But a big one, certainly, oily black and complicated. David’s own gun, the little Beretta he’d been issued by Glen, was in his pocket, but he dared not bring it out in the face of that monster.

The gun fired again, and this time the sound drew people out of the recreation area—and he saw that the patients—the real ones—had not gone upstairs at all, but were, in their panic, coming outside and straight into danger, with members of his class trying and failing to control them.

“No,” he shouted, “get back!”

On hearing the voice behind him, the figure turned around, and David saw that this was a boy of maybe fourteen or fifteen, a towhead with darting, frightened eyes made red by the new light.

As he aimed the weapon, David threw himself against the wall. An instant later the heat of bullets seared past his face, and he saw the child’s thin frame hopping from the recoil.

Silence followed, then a single, ripping shriek. Turning toward it, David saw that a crowd of patients that had come out the door had been torn to pieces by the bullets.

Many lay screaming, holding themselves, crying and gagging. One man capered wildly, blood as dark as a beet spraying out of his neck. Another bubbled foam from his chest, his hands fluttering around the wound, his eyes darting like the eyes of a trapped animal. Others were still, one of them kneeling and praying with his hands folded, gazing up toward the glow of the star.

The boy came a few hesitant steps closer. His face was a child’s, but it contained the cruel shadows of fear and desperation.

Quickly, the boy raised his gun to his shoulder, a snapping, oddly military gesture. Pink fire burst from the barrel and the praying man came sailing backward, his arms thrusting out, hands spread.

Suddenly, there was movement beside David. The light was so bizarre that it was difficult to see some things, such as a fast-moving figure, but as she ran past him, he saw that it was Caroline and she was going to the boy.

“No!”

The boy kept the weapon raised, his face intent.

“Caroline, we need you!”

David ran, trying to put himself between her and the child, but she was well ahead of him.

Then she was standing before the child.

“Don’t,” she said to him.

“Mom got shot. You gonna help her, lady?”

“I can help her.”

“She’s dead.” The voice was stark and cold. “What’s wrong with the sun?”

“That’s not the sun. It’s a different star.”

“It ain’t the sun?”

“It’s dangerous. You need to be inside.”

David tried again. “Caroline, we can’t afford to lose you.”

The boy said, “I want a bowl of soup.”

“You can have a bowl of soup.”

“Caroline, get back. Let me do this.”

“Get out of here, David. Son, come here.”

“Fuck, no.” The boy’s hand moved and the rifle clicked.

Caroline took a step toward him.

David could smell the stark odor of cordite still coming from the rifle.

“Caroline, please !”

“Come here,” she said, opening her arms.

The boy pushed the rifle into her face. David was behind her. He could not save her now.

“Son, no. No, please,” he said, but his fear reduced it to a dry, barely audible murmur.

Caroline lifted her hand, palm out, as if trying to protect herself from the barrel of the weapon. The two of them remained like that, frozen. David could not see Caroline’s face, but the boy’s slowly changed, the hardness leaving his eyes and tears appearing at their edges.

“Ma’am, is this the end of the world?”

“It’s a big change. Son, tell me, is there a black spot on you anywhere? Under your arm, maybe? On your leg?”

He hesitated. David took a step to one side, trying to get a clear run at the kid. Behind him, Mack was also in motion.

The boy said, “I got nothing like that.”

Caroline said, “Give me the gun.”

“No’m.”

“Did the ships come over your house?”

“Yeah, they didn’t stop, we got left here.”

“Son, you have a chance to escape with us. Don’t lose it now.”

“I shot ’em all!” His voice broke. “I’m sorry.” This was followed by a cataract of sobs and the boy ran into Caroline’s arms. David had never seen anything quite like it.

Her arm around him, Caroline returned to the building. A security guard quickly scooped up his abandoned weapon.

Two staffers came out with sheets to cover the dead, of which there were four. The wounded, many more, had been taken to the infirmary.

Most of the remaining staff and patients were assembled in the recreation room. Caroline had gone back to her easel and set it up, Susan having supplied her with paint and a fresh canvas. Mack watched her, and Noonan watched him.

David got up on a chair. “Patients, you need to get upstairs with the others and stay away from windows. Our security team will get the situation under control, but we need to help them by staying out of harm’s way.”

As he watched, the others trooped upstairs, all except Mack and Noonan, and, of course, Caroline. He looked around for Sam, but didn’t see him. Katie was still here, so he asked her to escort Mack to his room.

“Aren’t we past that?” Mack immediately asked.

“I told you, I want you in the sight of staff, and I can’t deal with you right now.”

“I’m not being locked in any goddamn room! No way!”

“Just go upstairs with the others.”

“What about her?” He gestured toward Caroline. “She can’t stay down here.”

“She needs to do her work.”

“Let’s take her somewhere safer.”

“Mack, you go with the others, or I will lock you down at gunpoint.”

“With what gun?”

He was about to produce it when Caroline whirled away from her painting.