Forever Never Ends (37 page)

How could he ever have wanted to destroy this wondrous miracle?

The thing tried to slide a word into his skull, a word picked from the dark depths of his brain:
Bruuu . . .thuuuuur. Oh bruuu-ther
.

Then Tamara was in his head again and he was afraid he wouldn't be able to pull the trigger because he only wanted to join the deep blackness the sweet nothing the dark lovely emptiness but then he knew he couldn't kill it how could he ever have wanted to kill the lovely but Tamara pulled him back with her thoughts back to Herbert the Bleeding Heart and even the Chairman was on his side and he was Herbert fucking Webster DeWalt the
Third,
goddammit, and before the alien could love him and lick him into oblivion again he was wondering if the percussion from the shotgun would be enough to detonate the blasting cap that he held in his left hand.

It was.

***

It wasn't enough.

Tamara sensed it, even as she felt Herbert dying, tuned in as his mind screamed red and yellow pain. She felt the quick white burning in his guts, felt something sliding out into the distant night as his thoughts fell into themselves like black holes, as he became pure light then peace then chaos. Then Herbert was out among the stars, far-flung and wide and never to be reassembled.

That microsecond became frozen like an ice crystal, its many facets glistening, each facet a different possibility. Tamara searched the long corridors:
there
,
the heart-brain, demanding and winning her devotion.

“Tah-mah-raaa.”

It was learning. Learning to love her. Learning to let her love
it
.

So easy. As easy as falling into a warm pool.

Just go under.

But the other facets . . .

Her love.

Kevin. Ginger. Robert.

Robert?

Yes, I'm here, honey.

Robert?

Here with you. It's beautiful . . .

No.

I can't, not alone, it's too strong.

You're not alone. Never alone.

But you see how wonderful it is, Tam. What joy. Oh, what peace.

But we can’t all live. Not with that thing. It will eat us all
.

I want to live.

We all want to live.

WE ALL WANT TO LIVE.

***

Bill tugged at the hooked briars that dug into his neck. Hot blood trickled under his shirt as he fought the preacher. He remembered some of the words that Nettie had read to him, her lively eyes flicking across the pages, her voice like music, her skin as sweet as meadows. He heard the words in his head as if she were saying them now: "He that eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood hath everlasting life, and I will raise him up on the last day."

Bill grabbed the preacher's lambent head and lifted it over the dais. Fogs leaked from the preacher's gums. Bill lost his grip on the slick, sodden skull, and the wide mouth came forward.

"So he that eateth me, the same also shall live by me."

The preacher, Satan in wet flesh, grew suddenly stronger. Bill was pushed backward, the preacher's hands sawing at the meat in his neck.

"I am the bread of life. He that eateth this bread shall live forever."

The preacher's head bent low and Bill was tilted over the pulpit. The devil was winning. Just as the disciple Thomas had done two millennia before, Bill suffered a moment of doubt.

The preacher's raw lips pressed against his own and the first whispers of eternal hellfire licked at the base of his brain. Satan murmured tenderly, lovingly, his saliva hot on Bill's cheek.

The pulpit toppled and Satan crawled onto Bill’s struggling form. Bill was trying to roll over and run, flee from the church door and away from salvation and damnation and trials and tribulations and temptations. But the devil was loathe to let him.

He struggled blindly, sliding on his back across the varnished floor. The devil hounded him, wagging its pulpy tongue. Bill's hands felt splintery wood. The cross. The Lord had provided.

Bill lifted the cross, the saliva of prayer on his lips, and drove the wooden tip between the screaming green eyes.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

James grabbed the arm of the creature that leaned in the window. Juice spattered on the carpet as it smiled with rotted lips. The creature tried to speak and a drop of thick saliva hit James in the eye. At the contact, he felt a jolt like lightning, and in the same throbbing split second he was rolling, flying, soaring—
sweet Jeez Louise
—he was flipping out.

Suddenly he was a white woman and his name was Tamara and this had to be stress taking its toll, grief scrambling his senses, a hammer of the gods shattering the gray jewel of his brain, how else could he explain away these walking mushrooms and wait a second, that was the only explanation, he had to be
dying
or something, but by God he'd take one of these bastards with him, except hold on here, Mister Wallace, this creature is already dead and what the hell is
shu-shaaa
and who are you, Tamara?

Whoa . . . now we're in the "heart-brain," is that right, Tamara? That must be that swollen-looking purple thing there, inside what looks like a disease-ridden sewer pipe.

And this is your daughter, Ginger? And your husband, Robert. Son, Kevin. Pleased to meet y’all.

So this is how it feels to be white. Funny, but it's just the same as being black, at least from the inside. Now would you please mind telling me what the hell is going on and why am I here dying inside your dream and why isn't time passing?

And you? Herbert DeWalt, you say? Okay, let me get this straight. You're dead and you're dust and energy now but you're not going to leave until we kick this
shu-shaaa
thing’s ass back to whatever black hole it crawled out of, and, gee, what a swell trick this is, let's all walk in your dream, Tamara. And I thought I was crazy before, when the green eyes got worse than white eyes ever were.

No fooling? You want me to
join
with you, Tamara?

Because we all want to
live?

In unity, in harmony? A peoplehood of people?

Sure, why not, got nothing better to do while I'm waiting to wake up in a straitjacket. Right fucking on and save the whales, sister.

You think you can beat this thing?

Yes, but you need my help?
Our
help?

Sure. I need some good karma to buy my way onto the soul train, so I might as well go for broke. Because, like you say, hope is our only hope.

Aaar-on-lee-ohp.

***

"Join with us,
believe
with us, because we're all one and only one of us can win."

Tamara's thoughts were exploding, spreading bright and white and thin just like the universe did when it got jump-started by physics, heat, and
shu-shaaa
. She felt James in her head, she knew him, she lived his life, all in the eye of a needle of a heartbeat. She sensed his ambition, and also his bitterness, his pain. His guilt. And his hope.

And others crowded behind him, Sarah Blevins, a man named Bill Lemly who held a dripping cross, Chester, Emerland, more people joining in as if answering the call of a distant bell.

A scythe of doubt cut across her mind.

Would she fail Robert like she had her father? Would she fail her children? Was she too weak to handle the gift that had been granted her? Would she let them all down?

"I won't let you fail," Robert interrupted. "I won't let
us
fail."

Their minds mingled like streams. She saw his weakness, his frailty, his humanity, but all was forgiven in that moment of mutual need. All that mattered was that he loved her. And the same humanity that was his weakness was also his strength.
Their
strength.

Funny, she'd always thought of love as an invisible but real force, only now it was taking shape and texture and color and Ginger was helping, Kevin, too, only Ginger was a lightning rod, she was harnessing and directing tremendous energy without even knowing what she was doing.

Tamara knew what the energy was.

The power of love, multiplied. Herbert, Chester, James, a dozen, no, a hundred, now a thousand human minds whose dreams and hopes and consciousness were swelling into a fat golden teardrop of heat that poured out over the
shu-shaaa
heart-brain, that suffocated and scorched the poisoned, throbbing alien.

It was like the Beatles song, all you need is love, only with looser harmonies, something that sounded like lip service when you said it aloud but became the most real thing in the universe when you actually experienced it.

And the
shu-shaaa
absorbed those thoughts, that feeling and strange emotion, reflected them back and absorbed them again, an endless loop like the infinity of two facing mirrors.

The laws of nature were flexible. Laws were made to be broken. Tamara was a conduit through which the collective energy of human souls flowed. She summoned the extra foot-pound of pressure that triggered the blasting cap of their combined minds a fraction of a second after Herbert DeWalt fired the shotgun.

And she was, and they all were, Bill Lemly driving a mahogany cross into a monstrous pasty face, because love took many forms, each strange and wonderful and equally awe-inspiring.

The power of love. Something the alien had never known, not the way a human could know it. A power beyond understanding, a power that was beyond control.

It was real here in the landscape of Tamara’s imagination where this cosmic war was being waged. And right now, that was the only place that mattered.

Because love was winning. Love was hope, love was mighty, love was blind, and at the moment, love was a righteous bitch that wanted to survive.

The golden teardrop exploded with a force that rocked the far corners of the conscious universe.

And the microsecond flashed forward as she screamed her mind at the exploding heart-brain, as she drew on the power of a thousand other human minds, as the force of hope ejaculated its hot combustion into
shu-shaaa
, and it collapsed and disintegrated outward.

Dirt and stones and hunks of thick sludge spewed from the Earth Mouth, and she felt it dying—no, not dying, only changing form, changing back into random atoms and space. She felt the explosion that rocked the foundations of its alien chemistry, felt the poisons blasted to the cold heart-brain of the thing, felt its spores curdle and suffocate, felt its roots spasm and sag, felt its alien consciousness take an uncomprehending waltz into the darkness that was nothing like its vision had promised, a darkness that was only darkness, without any kind of bliss or peace or bottom—darkness and darkness only.

And it was weeping.

Then she was rolling away from the falling trees and a fist-sized rock bounced off her shoulder and Chester had his arm around her and he was mentally cussing a blue streak and Emerland and Robert and Ginger dreaming of a rabbit and Kevin person everybody at the same time too many for one brief insane moment her thoughts were out among every organism in the world, an organism orgasm, every bird and bug and dandelion and crabapple and crawfish and lily and paramecium and virus, and it was blinding madness and mercifully the too-long eye blink passed and she was spitting gravel and twigs from between her teeth as the dirt rained down through the dead leaves of trees.

Then she was Tamara again, soiled and concussed and bleeding in spots, but otherwise, more or less intact.

***

The explosion woke up Little Mack. He'd fallen asleep under the trailer, too tired to cry any longer. When his eyes snapped open, he'd forgotten what had happened and didn't understand why he wasn't in his bunk bed with Junior snoring above him.

Then he saw his mom, and she had found him, was coming to cuddle him, was crawling across the gravel driveway on her raw hands and knees. But she was too slippery and naked and gross and pukey and her eyes were green but their glow was fading, like a flashlight whose batteries were out of juice, and her skin was getting all shrivelly and Jell-O-looking and was starting to slide off her bones.

She looked like she was in pain, but then her upper lip fell away and she looked like she was smiling again and she looked like she wanted to give Mack a good-bye kiss but then her other lip fell off along with the rest of her face and her skull collapsed like a mud balloon and then Mack was screaming and screaming and screaming and his mother was a heap of steaming slime and then she dried under the sun and flaked and lifted away as the wind cleaned up the mess but Mack was screaming and screaming and he wasn't ever going to stop.

***

James’s eyelids flickered open as the creature slid limply away from him. It collapsed in the flower bed beneath the window, crushing the daisies and filling the air with a thick sweet smell. James watched as the creature withered wetly and dissolved. Sirens blared across the hills.

He felt as if he'd awakened from an odd dream, one of the dense kind where you were a character in somebody else's movie. Except he somehow knew that it was real. His fingers tingled and he looked at the slick stains on the window ledge. Yes, it had been real.

Because he could still
hear
Tamara in his head.

"We won," she said. "We won."

Right on, lady. United we stand. Brotherhood of man, sisterhood of woman. A peoplehood of people
.

He'd seen the explosion, a bright flash of green on the slope of Bear Claw. He'd suffered that quick slice of telepathy, and something strange had dashed across the bottom of his psyche, leaving footprints. He knew he'd never understand what really happened, but that was fine by him, because he wasn't sure he wanted to.

But he wanted to know if the victory was final.

"We can always hope,” Tamara said in his head.

Hope?

Yes, he hoped. Didn’t someone once say that hope was the only hope?

He had seen, in that one long heartbeat, what life had to offer, and what the options were. Things could always change for the better. His aunt was gone, hopefully to a better place, but the living had a duty to live.