David Robbins: The Fox Run

“Let’s go!”

They fled.

The cloud was at the border of the field, sweeping in. A faint hiss carried through the air.

Jenny stumbled in a rut and fell on one knee, tearing a hole in her already faded and patched jeans, stifling a cry.

Blade heaved her to her feet. “Hurry, honey!”

How could the damn thing move so fast? No wonder the clouds had claimed so many lives over the years, including that of Kurt Carpenter.

Blade and Jenny ran all out, breathing hard.

They crossed the drawbridge and Blade spotted one of the Family striving to raise the massive mechanism by himself.

“Leave it!” Blade ordered.

“But…” the man protested, knowing his duty was to always insure the drawbridge was promptly closed after any opening.

Blade recognized him. “It won’t keep the cloud out, Brian! Want your wife to become a widow? Move!”

Brian fastened his brown eyes on the approaching cloud, nodded, and ran for shelter.

The green cloud had consumed half of the field.

Blade drew Jenny with him. Ahead, Hickok and Geronimo were entering the C Block. Smart choice.

The hissing was louder.

The compound was nearly deserted. The Family had taken shelter in the underground chambers. Those chambers were the last refuge in case of an attack by human, or inhuman, sources. Provisions were continually replenished. There were six concrete buildings within the brick walls, each one in reality a reinforced bunker. Below each building, called a Block after the customary military fashion, was a survival chamber. Access was gained via a hidden trap door, and every door was practically impregnable, consisting of alternating steel plates and insulation designed to filter any harmful particles, such as fallout, and reduce the penetration of ionizing radiation.

Blade and Jenny reached the doorway to C Block. Blade saw the trap door, in the northeast corner, open and beckoning.

Behind them, a woman shrieked in terror.

Blade whirled.

An infant, a toddler, was wobbling on unsteady little legs toward the drawbridge, towards the cloud, now only fifty yards from the Home.

“Mark!” the woman, Nightingale, screamed.

“Come back!” She was standing fifteen yards away, trembling, wanting to rescue her offspring but too petrified to make the attempt.

The small boy was still moving in the direction of the cloud.

Blade released Jenny and headed for Mark.

“Blade!” Jenny called after him.

“Stay there!”

The green cloud was only forty yards from the drawbridge, wispy, vaporous tentacles probing ahead of the main mass, reaching, searching, seeking flesh. Inexplicably, the mysterious clouds left vegetation unaffected by their passage. Any humans or animals, however, were never seen again if consumed by a cloud.

Blade knew the child was fascinated by the cloud, dazzled by a sight unlike any other the boy had ever seen. In a matter of moments, it would become the last sight the boy ever saw.

The creeping menace was closing on the drawbridge.

The boy had stopped just yards from the drawbridge, gaping.

Blade was running full out, straining his leg muscles to their limit.

“Mark!” the mother screamed again.

Mark twisted, glancing over his right shoulder.

The breeze slackened just a bit, and the cloud slowed.

Mark smiled at his frantic mother and returned his wondering eyes to the cloud, marveling.

Blade could feel his blood pounding in his temples, the toll on his leg muscles causing sharp pain in his thighs. He had gone too long without adequate rest and proper nourishment.

The cloud was almost at a standstill.

The boy ambled onto the drawbridge.

No! Blade lacked the energy to voice his warning. He concentrated on moving, on maintaining his speed. Speed was everything.

The preternatural hissing filled the air, resembling the sound of a pan of frying turtle amplified a thousand times. The wind suddenly picked up and the cloud resumed its advance.

Blade reached the boy. He scooped Mark into his arms and hugged him to his chest. For an instant he paused, riveted, watching the opaque cloud eat up the distance.

“Blade!” he heard Jenny yell.

Blade spun.

“Mommy!” the boy shouted, beginning to cry, suddenly terrified.

“We’ll make it!” Blade assured him.

But would they? Blade could not afford a backward glance as he made for C Block. He saw Nightingale and Jenny were standing side by side near the doorway. Nightingale had apparently run to Jenny for comfort, for support. Jenny’s right arm was around Nightingale’s shoulders, their expressions ashen, their eyes wide. Mark was bawling, and Blade felt several warm tears spatter on his neck.

The hissing crackled in his ears.

To his right, out of the corner of his eye. Blade caught movement. He risked a quick look-see and his breathing increased.

A finger thin green tentacle was coming at him. Thin, yes, but just one whiff and he was instantly dead.

“Mommy!” Mark squealed.

His attention still focused on the approaching tendril, Blade missed spotting a small hole in the ground in front of his churning feet.

“Mommy!” the instinctively horrified child screeched.

Blade hit the hole and went down.

The tentacle was ten yards away, closing in, as if sensing warm blood.

Blade jammed his left elbow trying to absorb the force of the fall and protect the infant. The boy’s knees dug into Blade’s stomach, and Blade’s vision whirled and danced, his midriff lanced with intense agony.

Blade tried to rise, to keep moving, but he couldn’t seem to catch his breath and his limbs felt like mush.

“Blade!” came from Jenny.

Jenny. He wanted to go out thinking about her, his first and only love, sweethearts since they were ten. Jenny. His precious beloved.

Strong arms abruptly gripped him by the armpits and hauled him to his feet.

“You sure pick the damnedest times to take your naps, pard.”

Hickok and Geronimo were literally carrying him, propelling him towards C Block.

“Hold your breath,” Geronimo advised. “It’s too close!”

Blade felt life returning to his legs and he pumped them, doing his best to keep up.

“Mommy!”

Nightingale came out to meet him, grabbing Mark, hastening for the doorway.

Jenny waited for Blade and moved in, taking Hickok’s place, supporting her man. “Hang in there,” she encouraged him.

They reached the trap door. Nightingale and Mark went down the steps first. Jenny followed. Hickok and Geronimo assisted Blade in descending to the underground chamber.

“You ever consider going on a diet?” Hickok asked Blade.

Blade was too tired to respond. He heard the trap door clang shut and knew they were, for the moment at least, safe.

“Is he okay?” Jenny was asking.

Blade tried to focus, but his vision spun, dizziness overcoming his mind.

He wanted to thank them for saving him, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open and his mind alert.

“Did he inhale the vapor?” someone was inquiring.

That was all he remembered.

The scene was shrouded in mist, the images clouded, but he could discern the mutate perched on a boulder ahead of him, crouched and prepared to spring. This monstrosity was once a mountain lion, now a deformed, demented demon.

He wanted to scream! His legs were carrying him towards the mutate on a path that wound below the boulder on which the horror was perched, and try as he might, until sweat beaded his brow, he could not force his legs to stop. They seemed to be endowed with volition of their own. What was wrong with him? Did he want to suffer the same terrible fate as his father?

The mutate growled and licked its lips.