F. Paul Wilson - Nightworld

"I can't believe they're going to try this again," she said. "Those men down there must be either very brave or very crazy."

"I'd venture they're neither," Bill said. "They're doing their job. Everybody else can go nuts, throw up their hands and say nothing matters anymore, the world's coming to an end so screw everything and let's party, let's go wild, let's do all the things we never allowed ourselves to do when we knew there'd be a price to pay. Let's get drunk, get stoned, rape, pillage, kill, destroy, burn everything to the ground just because we feel like it. But there will always be a certain small percentage out there who'll go on doing their jobs, people with an overriding sense of duty, of responsibility, of obligation to try to keep things running, to ignore the end-of-the-world Zeitgeist and just keep going. People who know that to let yourself go crazy is to say that your day-to-day life has been a sham, that you've been a hypocrite, that your lifestyle has been little more than play-acting for other people; like saying, 'Hey, you know everything I've said and done up till now? It's all been a lie. This is the real me.' No matter what Rasalom throws at that small percentage of humans, they aren't going to back down. Some of them are down there around that goddam hole right now."

Carol found herself staring at Bill, a lump in her throat, tears in her eyes. And I know you're one of them. The sound of applause made her turn. Behind them, Jack and Glaeken were clapping.

"I bet you used to give some wicked sermons," Jack said.

Bill looked sheepish. "Sorry. I got a little carried away."

"Don't apologize. You've just demonstrated one of the reasons Rasalom hates you so. The type of person you describe is the only threat to his supremacy. Unfortunately, there aren't enough of them. If the percentages were reversed, however—if there were as many people sticking to their posts, holding on and refusing to allow fear to rob them of everything they believe in, everything they've lived for, as there now are people falling victim to their fears—Rasalom wouldn't have a chance. But the opposite is true. The violent anarchy growing outside feeds his power, helps him shorten the days even further, which increases the fear and irrationality, which in turn makes him stronger, and around and around it goes until he is victor."

A flash of light from below caught Carol's attention. She turned and stared out the window.

"Oh, look!"

The others joined her at the window as she raised the glasses and watched as the men around the Sheep Meadow hole sprayed fire at the things winging up from the depths.

"I'll be damned!" Jack said from over her left shoulder. "Flame throwers! King Kong flame throwers!"

"I think it's working!" Bill said.

And sure enough, the fire did seem to be working. The things flying out of the hole were caught in the crossfire. Arcs of flame streamed inward from all sides of the hole. Powered by the pumps on the trucks around the rim, they crisscrossed over the opening, waving back and forth, catching the winged things as they tried to escape into the night. Doused with gasoline, or whatever the hoses were spraying, they caught fire and hurtled out of control into the darkness, twisting, turning, tumbling, fluttering up and down and about like windswept embers from a fresh-lit campfire.

A thrill ran through Carol. The things were dying! They could be contained! Here was the spark of hope they'd all been looking for!

"Do you know what this means?" she said, lowering the glasses and turning to the others. "If they can set up flamethrowers around all the holes—"

"Hey, what's going on down there?" Jack said.

Carol peered through the glasses again. The arcs of flame were wavering, faltering, some dropping, falling, pouring straight down into the hole; others were backing away from the edge, spraying the ground along the rim with liquid fire. And then Carol saw why.

"Oh, no!"

The flying things weren't the only creatures leaving the pit tonight. Through the lenses she saw other shapes—bulbous creatures with hard, shiny, black bodies; sinuous, multi-legged crawlers as long as a man and as thick around as a muscular thigh, and more—moving along the rim, crawling over the edge, worming their way onto the grass. They leapt upon the men directing the flame throwers, began tearing them to pieces.

Carol snatched the glasses from her eyes and held them away from her. Jack took them, watched for a moment in silence, then handed them to Bill.

"Every night some new horror is added to the others," Bill said after a moment. His voice was dry, quavering.

"And each night is longer than the last," Glaeken said. "But come away from the window for now. We have something to discuss."

Carol was glad to retreat to the lighted space of the living room. She sat next to Bill—huddled next to him, actually. It was warm in the apartment but she felt cold. She almost wished he'd put an arm around her and hug her close. She felt so alone tonight.

Jack sat across from them. Glaeken remained standing.

"Jack is leaving for the Central Pacific tomorrow. The object of his mission is crucial to our survival. However, even if he's successful in retrieving the necklaces, I fear they won't be enough. We need something else. One more constituent. And to obtain that, someone must travel in the opposite direction. Jack can't do both—there's not enough time. I need a volunteer to go the other way."

A sick feeling grew in the pit of Carol's stomach as she noticed both men staring at Bill.

"How…how far in this 'other direction'?"

"Rumania."

Carol grabbed Bill's hand and squeezed. No!

"How can I get there? The airlines—"

He's already decided! Carol thought. They didn't even ask him and he's already making travel plans.

"I know some pilots," Jack said. "A couple of brothers. I did some work for them once. They run an executive jet service out on Long Island. They owe me."

"They're still flying?"

Jack smiled. "You know the kind of people you were talking about before—the ones who keep on keepin' on, no matter what? Frank and Joe Ashe are two of those. They don't back down—I don't think they know how."

"Frank and Joe," Bill said. "They sound like the Hardy Boys. They owe you. Will they fly me?"

Jack nodded. "For a price. I just spoke to them. They're not crazy about flying into Eastern Europe, but for the right price—in gold—they'll do it."

"Gold?" Bill said. "I don't—"

"I have plenty," Glaeken said. "Are you willing to make the trip?"

"Of course," Bill said.

"Bill!" Carol said, giving his hand a hard squeeze. "Maybe you should think about this."

"What's to think about?" he said, his blue eyes clear and untroubled as they stared into hers. "Somebody's got to do it. Might as well be me. I want to be useful, Carol. I'm tired of feeling like a fifth wheel. I want to do something. Hell, I'm not needed for anything else around here."

I need you! she thought. The intensity of the emotion behind that thought startled her.

"You could be killed."

"We'll all be dead if we don't do what we can now," he said, then looked at Glaeken. "When do I leave and what am I supposed to get?"

"You leave tomorrow morning—"

"Oh, no!" Carol couldn't help it.

"—and you'll be searching a rocky ravine for scraps of metal, shards from a sword blade that shattered there half a century ago."

"Do I have to get them all?"

"Just a few. Just a sampling is all that is needed. You must—"

An explosion rattled the apartment windows. Carol followed Glaeken, Bill, and Jack to the picture window.

Below, in the Sheep Meadow, flames billowed high into the night air. One of the tank trucks supplying the gasoline for the flame throwers had exploded. In the flickering light of the flames, even without the binoculars, Carol could see that the entire Sheep Meadow was now acrawl with the new horrors from the hole. They were on the move, spreading out into the city streets in a glistening, worming, undulating carpet.