What's right? What's wrong? What's left? What the hell is going on? -- Poison, "Unskinny Bop" Truth is false and logic lost, now the fourth dimension is crossed... No escape, no place to hide here where time and space collide. -- Rush, "Twilight Zone" ...remember: even God has a sense of humor. Just look at the Platypus. -- Kevin Smith, disclaimer at the beginning of "Dogma" ======== Ambrose Bierce stared into the mirror. He remembered doing this once before, for an exceedingly long time, and knew something had come of it, but for some reason he couldn't quite recall what it was. He continued to gaze, noting in the reflection the wreckage of the room around him. He recalled the battles fought, the hell he went through. He remembered the search for Pancho Villa and sitting at a table in a seedy Mexican bar trading shots and stories. He remembered staring into a mirror... Time passed, or maybe it didn't pass, but rather chose to pirouette. Or maybe it just tap-danced. Or maybe, just maybe, it two-stepped. Regardless, time elapsed. And as Ambrose Bierce stared into the mirror, it came to him. And just as suddenly as the recollection hit him (with a vicious uppercut, no less), Ambrose Bierce disappeared. And so it goes. ===================================== New Haven ------------------------------------- it is truly darkest when you cannot find your way Scene 1-7: Nightfall by Larry Alton "t.ogre" Garrett Story initiated by Thomas Wilde and James Howard ===================================== "Blah. Blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah, blah blah... Shit. Shit shit shit!" Michael Lime was past grumpy now. Michael Lime was well into pissed off. "I'm a professional writer, damnit! I work as a journalist for The Fortean Times! I don't get writer's block!" he yelled at the typewriter, which sat there patiently alongside the stack of paper which stared back at him with its single 'r' in the center of the page. Michael paced the room. Between the fish monsters and the creatures that they were fighting, he simply could not think of a way to get out of this town. But if he could, and he could get this story written, he was looking at fame and fortune. A book and subsequent tour. Maybe even the Pulitzer. He stared at the typewriter again, trying to think of some sort of beginning, some hook for the story. Something he could at least start out with. He sat down at the typewriter and rolled in a fresh sheet. He took a deep breath and typed. NEW HAVEN -- In the last forty-eight hours, this small town has been Been what? What had happened? And how in God's name could he write a story about it that people would read and believe? Michael Lime shook his head. He desperately needed a cigarette and, of course, the nearest convenience store had been taken over by those... those... *things* that had stepped on his laptop. He looked around the hospital's third-floor nurses' lounge in which he had taken refuge and suddenly a thought hit him. He stood from the table at which he was sitting and strode through the door. He hoped they had Camels, but he would settle for Lucky Strikes or Winstons. Michael Lime had chosen the hospital as a place of refuge because it still had working electricity, probably from those huge generators out back. And, as such, that meant he could get as far away from the ground and those creatures as possible. Besides, if he didn't like the stairs, then those things probably wouldn't, either. He looked on the hospital phone directory at the nurses' station at the end of the hall. There it was, a single page taped to the counter in a plastic sheet protector. The page read, among other things, "GIFT SHOP -- 1W." Michael Lime grinned and proceeded across the foyer to the elevator. He pressed the call button and the doors promptly opened. As he stepped into the elevator, he turned around to face outward, feet apart at shoulder width, back straight. He sharply tugged the front of his jacket down, then clenched his hands together just below his belt. "Bridge." The elevator doors closed. ======== The mist began to darken as the cloud of ash covered the sky. The wind was blowing from the northwest -- from where North Redsdale used to stand. Even in his insanity, Stephan Carroll had made sure that his town would be protected. But Stephan Carroll, even with his arcane knowledge and mathematical prowess, had no idea about nuclear weaponry. And to the astonishment and horror of all watching (who were few and far between and from a distance), the ash began to adhere to the barrier. Hi-ho. ======== Roderick Kramer awoke in darkness. With a headache. And on the floor, no less. A sticky barroom floor. Roderick sat up and felt an icepick shoot through his brain. He involuntarily winced and placed his hand on the back of his head. As he did so, he raised his other hand and muttered a cantrip through clenched teeth. A small iridescent globe flared into being just above his fingertips. Roderick examined the room, or at least what was left of the room, around him. What had once been a small neighborhood bar was now a tangled labyrinth of wood, glass, metal and flesh. He found the support beam which had knocked him out lying across the remnants of the table. His eyes trailed along the wood until they reached the end, where they halted, deciding that they were not going any farther for at least a couple of seconds. And Roderick saw the corpseless head of Daniel Stowe staring off into the distance, lifeless eyes glowing a dull red in the reflection of the light. Roderick turned toward the door and found nothing more than a large pile of rubble. In fact, he could not even see where the door had once stood, only that the entire front wall of the building had somehow collapsed. With a sigh, Roderick turned toward the back of the building. He saw the bar at the back of the room. And at one end of the bar, he saw a door he had never noticed before, with a big sign which said "Employees Only." He walked over and opened the "Employees Only" door and found himself looking at a gaping hole which used to be a storeroom. And the mist began to enter the remains of the bar. ======== Alicia Carmine took a deep breath. Then another. She held her hands out in front of her and noticed that they had finally stopped shaking. She blinked twice, almost in disbelief, then got up from where she sat on the floor of the morgue. She shook her head as she walked over to the prone undead body of Harlukia, who was sprawled where he fell on the floor. "Jesus. How did I get myself into this mess?" Alicia muttered, as she kneeled next to Harlukia. She began to search through his pockets for keys or lockpicks or a hairpin or *something* to unlock the doors and get out of this refrigerated hellhole. "...ebdo...," cried out Harlukia from his unconscious state, causing Alicia to pull her hands away and lean back from his prone form. Alicia waited until Harlukia quieted down and resumed searching his pockets. As her hands entered the small leather pouch around his waist, she suddenly found herself face-to-face with the vampire, who was sitting straight up, eyes open and unseeing. "JEBDORN!" Harlukia screamed. Alicia jerked back and away from him, her hand still in the pouch, ripping it from his belt. Unfortunately, Harlukia's scream and a loud ringing noise were the last two things she heard for a while as she fell unconscious from a blow to the head. The other woman hovered over her, an examination tray in her hands. "Nobody hits Sapphia Ashtoreth with a bedpan and gets away with it." She dropped the tray, tossed her hair triumphantly, and glared down at the comatose Alicia. "Bitch." ======== The ash continued to build upon the barrier. ======== Archbishop Alberto Luccini mopped his brow with a handkerchief. He and Father Gregory Bruno rested inside an empty warehouse in which they had taken refuge. Father Johnathan Edgewood volunteered to keep watch at the door. The Archbishop looked over at Father Bruno, sleeping quietly on the floor. Bruno wasn't sweating. Why was the Archbishop sweating so much? Luccini took several deep breaths to calm himself, then placed his head on his kit bag, using it as a pillow. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. Unseen by Luccini, Father Edgewood took two pills and downed the rest of the contents of the flask. ======== Johnny, Charlie, and Karen leaned against the wall, panting heavily. Somehow, they had managed to escape that giant crocodile. Maybe it was the fact that Bates Street collapsed under its weight and it fell into the sewer, but none of them were quite for sure, as none of them had dared pause to look back and verify. "So, where the hell are we?" gasped Johnny. "On the other side of town from where we need to be," huffed Karen, standing up from her position against the wall. Charlie took two deep breaths and stood up straight. The glistening sweat on his forehead was the only sign that indicated that he had physically exerted himself at all. "We're actually not that far," said Charlie. He pointed to an alleyway. "If we walk through these alleys, we should be able to get back to Center Road, and considering where we're at, I figure we're only about fifteen blocks away. From there, it's only three or so miles back to Donnelly Avenue, and then another seven blocks." Johnny stared at Charlie in amazement. "You know, Charlie, you're a complete goof sometimes, but I love your memory," grinned Karen. "And it's starting to get dark. We better get moving." Charlie looked at his watch. "A storm must be moving in. It's only 2:37. That's the only reason it would be getting dark this early." Charlie and Karen began walking down the alley. "Wait!" exclaimed Johnny. "Couldn't we borrow a car? Wouldn't that be quicker?" Charlie turned to face Johnny but continued walking. "That would be Grand Theft Auto. Are you coming?" Johnny sighed and started trudging after the pair of police officers. ======== Casey stopped. He had come through the park and followed his masters' scent this direction, but there was a really big hole here that he saw no way to get around. And the scent stopped at the end of the hole. Casey looked down in the hole and whimpered. It was dark down there and it smelled bad. Really bad. Going into the hole would be a bad thing. Casey went back to the alley just before the hole and went down to the next block. Maybe his masters had gotten past the hole. A fire hydrant loomed at the next corner, and Casey suddenly had the urge to urinate. ======== The layer of ash thickened. The sky darkened. The shadows deepened. ======== He thought. And thought. And thought some more. "I've got it!" He picked up the handset to the phone on his desk and pressed a six- digit code. "General? Get one of those boring machines. No, not those. Bor-ing. You know, bore, as in drill? One of the ones we used to dig out the underground tunnels in New Mexico. Yeah, the big sucker. "We're going to get to New Haven from below." ======== The general hung up the phone and shook his head. He lit his cigar and took three big puffs, then stubbed it out in the oversized ashtray on his desk, the one that looked like an alien head. He picked up another handset, this one from a phone comprised of a brushed stainless steel inlay on black plastic. "Get me the Mole. We're digging a hole under New Haven." ======== AUTHOR'S NOTES: I found this much more difficult to write than anticipated. Teach me to set expectations, huh? I figured I could bang out a chapter in a couple of hours and then revise from there. Nothing doing. Damnit. Thanks to black dub for prereading and suggestions and stroking my ego. Thanks to Michelle (my lovely wife) for playing "Dogma" while I was writing this, and for suggesting the "blah blah blah" part for Michael Lime's attempt to break his writer's block. And of course, thanks to those crazy kids Thomas and James for starting this thing. Some thoughts about what I've written: * I pictured Roderick Kramer as the expendable expert. He survives, meets up with the main characters, gives them some information about how to win, and then gets killed. I love survival horror stereotyping. ^_^ * Where did the name Sapphia Ashtoreth come from? - Ashtoreth was the Hebrew goddess of fertility and reproduction who was worshipped before and alongside Yahweh from 1150-650BC. She was venerated in the royal household of Solomon. Later she was denounced as the Mother Goddess and demonized by followers of Yahweh. - Sapphia is merely a bastardization of Sappho, who was the great female poet from the isle of Lesbos back in 650BC. Take that information and the fact that she knows Harlukia for what it's worth (I'm thinking *really* old-school. ^_^). * Edgewood's pills, when written, were for angina. * The Mole is the government code name for the drilling machine. Okay, I think that's everything. So there. I hope you enjoyed it. Larry Alton "t.ogre" Garrett lou_minati@canada.com (yep, new e-mail address!)