The Object: Book One (Object Series) (3 page)

"It's about quarter after three," Meredith said.

"Quarter after what?"

"Three.  Sir, I need you to--"

"Okay then if you're gonna be a lying bitch, too," Mike said, and he came at her, his face crossing through the beam of the flashlight for an instant, snarling, one side of his dirty face glazed with blood, his eyes blackened with rage.

She fired.

~ ~ ~ ~

Lillia was crossing under the overpass when she heard the gunshot.  Above her, on the interstate, people were honking their horns and the speed of traffic was quickly increasing.

On
Brook Street
people had emerged from their houses, some standing in their yards or on the sidewalk, gawking at the sky, others running to their cars or standing in doorways screaming at their family members to hurry.  The sound of panic was growing all across the city.  Car alarms, honking, screams, crying.  When she reached her house she heard the screeching, grating impact of a wreck on the interstate and the squeal of dozens of tires as so many people slammed on their brakes.  Then a second impact.

She leapt up onto the porch and fumbled with her backpack to retrieve her key from a side pocket and then she came through the door and slammed it shut and locked it.

"Drake!" she called.  "Kate!"

She check the living room, then the kitchen.  Cindy and Audrey were rooting around in the refrigerator.  They turned and scowled at her.

Cindy said, "They're upstairs.  You don't have to
yell
."

"Don't go outside," Lillia said.

"You can't tell us what to do," said Audrey.

Lillia ran back to the foyer and up the stairs.  Drake was coming out the bedroom door.

"Why's it so dark?" he asked.

Lillia ushered him back into the room, where Kate sat on the floor holding her porcelain doll, and closed the door.

"Is it gonna storm?" Kate asked.

Drake tugged at her skirt and she turned to him.

"Lillia, what's wrong?"

Lillia went to the window and struggled to raise it.  When she'd first come home with Mrs. Wilkins this window had been painted shut.  It was wood-framed, heavy.  She had to prop it open with a sawed-off piece of broom handle.

Kate hopped up from the floor and took her doll to the bed.  Then she stood next to Drake.  Together they stared at Lillia.

Lillia turned to them, a strong breeze gusting in, ruffling their clothes and the hair of dozens of stuffed animals seated on the inset shelves.

"There's something in the sky," Lillia said.  "You guys wanna see it?"

~ ~ ~ ~

Roger Lansing stood with three paramedics, four police officers, six firefighters, and a dozen pedestrians who had pulled over to inspect the carnage of Staci McKenzie's car or comfort the girl while she waited for the ambulance.  She had a broken arm and a broken collar bone, and after a few minutes of hanging upside down and screaming her head off, she'd passed out.

It wasn't until the police arrived that Roger got out of his van.  He didn't like blood, not even that which seeped from the steaks he had to grill on a daily basis.

Now she was awake again and back to her screaming, though no one paid her any mind.

They were all staring off toward the city, where a giant marble hovered in the sky, with some kind of ring wrapped around it.

Traffic had slowed to a crawl, and among the spectators speculation swelled against the mumblings of prayer.

"It's a UFO," one firefighter shouted repeatedly while his colleagues blurted every curse word they could think of at the giant object.

"What the hell is that thing?" said a man whom Roger remembered stepping down from a tractor trailer hauling a backhoe.

The girl hanging upside down in the car cried for help, and someone else said, "Isn't anybody gonna help her?"

"It's a meteor!"

"Oh Lord help us."

"It's not a meteor, you dumb shit."

"Hey, piss on you, buddy!"

"I'm tellin' you that's a UFO," said the firefighter.  "Unidentified flying object.  I never believed in such a thing but that's what it is."

Then the wind hit them, and everyone took a step back.

"You know what I think," one police officer said to another.

"That we need to get the hell out of the city?" his partner said.

"Yeah."

"Let's go."

They started for their cruiser, and the first officer turned back to the crowd and said, "Everybody get the hell out of here, get home to your families and out of the city.  We're all gonna die!"

Panic erupted and the crowd quickly dissolved as people ran back to their vehicles, leaving Staci McKenzie still trapped.

The girl who had called upon them to help Staci stood at the driver's side door.  "Where are you people going?  You have to help her!"

One by one engines fired up and cars precariously cut into traffic.  The police cruisers blared their sirens.  One fire truck sideswiped three cars, pushing them into the middle lane.

Roger felt a hand hook him by the elbow.  He turned to the girl.

"Please don't go," she said.

~ ~ ~ ~

Danny swallowed a bite of his quesadilla, took a sip of his coffee, and then took a long drag from the hookah.  Creamsicle.  Refreshing.  All around him people were running, screaming, delivering apocalyptic monologues of the highest drama.  His rude waitress, who'd surprised him by bringing the hookah, popped out the door moments before with two coworkers, all holding hands and dashing down the back alley to their cars.  Just a few feet away, a man lay on the sidewalk crying and holding his broken leg.  He had tried to cross the street at the wrong moment and had been struck by a black Trailblazer, flinging him back where he'd started.

Danny agreed with the hipsters: this was the end of the world.

He sure as hell wasn't going to die hungry.

~ ~ ~ ~

"Wow, that's so cool," Drake said.

They sat on the small section of slanted rooftop, Lillia hugging Kate, Drake standing against the brick wall, peering up.

"Come sit down, Drake," Lillia said.

"I'm not gonna fall, I promise," he said, but without further instruction he reached out for her and inched his way across the roof.  Lillia grabbed his hand and held it until he sat down next to her.  Then she put her arm around him.

"Is it aliens?" he asked.

"I don't know," Lillia said.

"I bet Timmy is flipping out right now, he's such a wuss."

"He is, isn't he."

"Totally," Drake said, laughing.

Kate, who sat between Lillia's legs, turned her head and looked up at her.  "Are they gonna hurt us?"

"I won't let anyone hurt you," Lillia said.

"Okay," said Kate, unperturbed.  She resumed staring up at the strange dark object.

Lillia felt a vibration in the roof, which meant the big heavy front door had just slammed shut.  Mrs. Wilkins was home early.

"She's home, guys.  Back inside.  Hurry."

As she helped Kate slide through the window, she heard Mrs. Wilkins's high-pitched scream, not uncommon in this household, even without unfathomable anomalies hovering above.  She put a hand on Drake's hip as he stood and stepped past her.  When he was through the window, she climbed back into the room herself, then closed the window as quietly as she could.

Kate was gathering her doll and Drake stood waiting for Lillia's next move.

"Stay in here a minute," she said.

Drake nodded.

When she came out to the second floor landing, she saw Mrs. Wilkins standing at the door with her enormous purse, beckoning her daughters, pushing them out onto the porch.  Then she rushed outside, closing the door behind her.

"You gotta be kidding me," Lillia said.

She hurried down the stairs and came out on the porch just as Mrs. Wilkins was climbing into the driver's seat.  She had left the car running despite the unusual number of people on the street.

"Mrs. Wilkins!" Lillia called.  "What about us!"

Mrs. Wilkins glanced at her briefly.  Then she closed the door and sped off.

~ ~ ~ ~

From the roof level of the parking structure
Sherman
could see all across the city--even glimpses of the river between the northernmost buildings.  The wind softened the hubbub below, the screech of tires in the levels below him, the weather sirens, the screaming.  All things considered, this was a pretty peaceful spot.  He sat straddling the ledge, watching the people and cars fleeing like cockroaches when the lights come on--this the antithesis of that.

He pulled a partial cigarette from his tin container.  To light it, he had to lean away from the ledge and form his hand into a cup in which to fire up the lighter.  Then he sat smoking his cigarette and scanning the visible edges of the object.

"You'd love this, Momma," he said, shaking his head.

He pulled out his pint of KG and finished it off, then dropped the bottle on the concrete floor.

It was then that he noticed the man climbing up on the ledge of the perpendicular wall, tie flapping out behind him.

"Sir!"
Sherman
called.  He jumped down and started jogging toward the man.  "Sir, that wind'll blow you right off there! Sir!"

The man glanced back at him briefly, then raised his arms up, palms together.  He bent his knees slightly and kicked off the ledge like a diving board.

Sherman
slowed down to a walk, then stopped altogether.  He put his hands on his hips, winced, took a drag from his cigarette.

"Nervous day in
Louisville
, ladies and gentlemen.  Yes sir.  Absolutely yes."

On Our Own

Three old men in yellow Polo t-shirts stood on the tee box below the balcony of Barry Schafer's top floor condo.  Out on the fairway, a Jr. Pro barreled towards the men at full speed, driver yelling something inaudible, passenger clinging to the roll cage.

Barry sipped a glass of scotch and watched the runaway golf cart tear up the grass as it hit a bump, cut a donut, and finally came to a stop near the tee box, at which point its occupants fled the cart as though it were rigged with explosives, joining their fellow yellow-shirted golf buddies to piss themselves marveling over the big rock in the sky.

"Honey it's on the news," Whitney said from inside.  Barry hardly heard her.  He was thinking about that skinny black drunk he'd accosted earlier, wondering what he made of this object in the sky.

Two things were certain.  One, it would be a different kind of world around here now, at least until this thing disappeared.  Two, he would run into that drunk again.

"They're saying--honey, they're saying they don't know what it is."

"No shit," Barry called back.

He took out his cell phone and sent a text to Jason, the groundskeeper, whom he had once caught smoking pot in the media room downstairs, and who since then had been his one-stop supplier of weed, coke, and pills.  The text he sent read: MEET IN 10 MINS.

Down on the golf course one of the old men took a knee, clutching his chest.  Two of his friends helped lay him flat on the grass while the other two started waving their arms and calling up to Barry.

Barry finished off his scotch and stepped through the open balcony door, into the kitchen, where Whitney stood rinsing asparagus in the sink and watching the news on a small flat screen.  She wore a white apron over her short khaki shorts and tank top, blond hair pulled back in a ponytail.  A slave to the tanning salon but with optimum results.  For now, anyway.  In ten years she'd probably look like a boot.

Her hands were shaking.

As Barry passed her he pulled on the apron string tied in a bow behind her back, unraveling it.

"Barry please."

He smiled and pulled a bottle of scotch from the cabinet.

"I gotta run to the store," he said.  "You need anything?"

"I need Hayden to come home."

He turned to her and leaned against the counter.  "Where is he?"

"I don't know.  I called him and of course he didn't answer."

Barry shook his head and drank.  "I told him.  Didn't I tell him?"

"Yes."

"I told him he keeps pulling this shit, that car pops up in the classifieds."

"I hope he's okay.  The traffic today, my goodness."

"You can worry about him when he gets home.  I'm gonna tan his ass."

"Barry.  He's probably somewhere watching that . . . thing.  Speaking of which, I really think we should go to Sarah's."

"I've already made my ruling," Barry said.

"Well this isn't a courtroom, and you're not a judge."

"Not yet."  He stepped past her and pulled on her apron string again, which she'd retied, and when she swatted at him he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to him.  "I'm going out for a few minutes.  Stay inside.  People are losing it out there."  He kissed her and ran his hand up the back of her thigh.  She pushed him away.

"How long will you be gone?" she asked.

"Few minutes."

He smacked her on the butt and then went to the bedroom and took his .9mm handgun from the nightstand, checking to make sure it had a round in the chamber before returning to the living room and heading out the door.

~~~~

"I'm bleeding everywhere," Mike cried.  "I'm dying.  Am I dying?"

Meredith had to drag him to her car.  She'd tried dispatch several times but no one had responded.  The radio was cluttered with reports and requests for backup from all over town.  Car accidents, assault, looting, missing persons, and even a few suicides.

Meanwhile, Mike the Stalker was bleeding to death.  She'd shot him in his lower abdomen, likely through something vital--a kidney or the liver.

When she'd had no luck with dispatch, she'd even used Mike's cell phone to dial 911, though she'd known better.  A busy signal.  You wouldn't get through till midnight at the least.

With her options whittled down to two--leave him to die or drive him to the hospital--Meredith knew she didn't really have any options.  She couldn't leave him to squirm and cry and bleed out in the weeds.  No matter what his intentions for that little girl, who'd run off to God knows where--hopefully home.

What a mess Day Three had turned out to be.

Hefting Mike across the lot proved difficult.  In his agony he went limp, legs dragging the ground, arms flopping.  He was a small guy with a beer gut and at least a pint of blood missing already, and although Meredith was taller than Mike, she was regarded often by friends and especially her new co-workers as "too skinny."

Just yesterday, in fact, she'd overheard two fat patrolmen who worked in the
Okolona
area talking about her, the first saying, "Man I'd make them bones rattle."

"Too skinny for me," said the other.  "Bang her, you're liable to start a fire."

Then they'd chuckled and continued chewing on cheeseburgers.

"I don't wanna die," Mike murmured.

"Then you shouldn't have attacked me."

"I didn't do anything!"

Meredith's back hit the side of the cruiser.  She let Mike slide down to the pavement, opened the door, pulled on him again.

"Get in the car," she said, pulling and fumbling with his limp body.  Mike was no help.  He just cried like a baby with his eyes clenched shut.  "Put your feet on the ground," Meredith said.  "If you don't help me out I'll leave you here."

"No, no please," he said, suddenly calmer--and lighter, as he grabbed hold of the door and stood on at least one foot.

Meredith used this as an opportunity to squeeze out from between him and the car.  Then she shoved him inside.  He screamed loud and high enough to shatter wine glasses.  Meredith grappled with his kicking feet to get them clear of the door and finally slammed it shut.

It was then she noticed the warmth and wetness of the blood soaking through her uniform.  For a moment she gazed up at the object, dark and silent, as if waiting.  Then she got in the car and drove away, Mike the Stalker thrashing and sobbing in the back seat.

~~~~

Sherman
jogged past the spectators, some mingling around the splattered remains of the jumper, others wandering aimlessly, necks craned, gawking at the sky, others still running full on for their vehicles or homes.

When he heard the first storefront window shatter, he ran across
Sixth Street
to a parking lot and then through a brick alleyway.  Fifth and Fourth were the same.  People behaving erratically, some shouting prayers, others fleeing.  Down at Fourth Street Live a riot had begun.

He didn't stop until he reached
2nd Street
, where a bus idled at the corner Tarc stop.  The doors were closing and the bus lurched forward. 
Sherman
caught up to it and banged twice on the door, then veered right to avoid smacking into a light pole.  He smacked the door again and called out, "Come on, man, let me on!  Please!  Please!"

The bus picked up speed, pulling ahead. 
Sherman
slowed to a jog, then stopped completely.

"Ain't we all in this together?" he shouted at the bus.

Then he heard the squeal of the brakes.  The driver was still making his route and the next Tarc stop was only a block away.

He reached the door just as it pulled open.

"Whew, thanks man," he said, gasping.  "It's a circus out there.  People's scared."

"Can't stop nowhere but the designated spots, bub," the driver said.

"It's all good,"
Sherman
said.  "I appreciate it, I do."  He pulled out a five dollar bill.

"No change.  It's all automated now."

Sherman
nodded, still panting, and inserted the bill into the acceptor.  The driver ripped off a ticket and handed it to him, and
Sherman
plopped down in the first seat.  The bus was otherwise empty.

"I can't believe you're still driving."

"What's that?"

"I said you gotta be the only bus still makin' its route."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes sir, this city could be crawling with aliens any minute."

"They just let you out of Our Lady of Peace?"

Sherman
laughed.  "Nah, man, the thing--wait, ain't you looked outside lately?"

"I'm lookin' outside right now, bub," the driver said.

"You ain't looked up, though."

"Looked up at what?"

"The UFO."

The driver grunted.  "They ought to have put it it my job description," he mumbled.  "Once a day, every day, see a new kinda crazy."

Sherman
stood and moved up next to the driver, crouched forward, pointing up at the sky.  "Just look, man--look at that thing."

"Hey, sit down, bub."

"Just look!"

"I said sit down you damn fruit--oh shit!"

The driver slammed on the brakes, but it was too late. 
Sherman
was thrown forward into the panel and had just enough time to make out a set of wide eyes before the bus overtook an elderly woman in a flowery yellow dress.

~~~~

Danny stood at the door of Cafe 360 until the remaining employees were all in the back.  Then he slipped inside and moved around the tables to the ladies bathroom.  Lucky for him it was empty, so he stepped inside, pulled the squeaky door closed, and set the hook in the eyelet to lock it.  Then he shut off the light, sat down on the toilet, and waited for the place to evacuate completely.  In the meantime, he had his own evacuating to do.

~~~~

Lillia made them each a tuna sandwich, sliced them diagonally, and put them on a single plate.  She grabbed a bag of potato chips from the cabinet, a 2-liter from atop the refrigerator, and three plastic cups.

As she passed through the door to the living room, she shut off the kitchen light, then thought better of it and flipped it back on.  Outside the streets sounded like a war zone.  Several times she'd heard glass shattering, and once what she was certain was a fight breaking out.  Two men shouting and cursing at one another, women screaming on the sidelines.

She checked the deadbolt on the front door to make sure it was locked, as she had done when she first came downstairs.

Despite the prattle of chaos outside, the house was eerily quiet.  She could hear the pops and squeals of the walls contracting as the air cooled in the shadow of the object.  She could even hear the mice in the walls, the whisper of conversation between Drake and Kate upstairs.

"I wonder if they look like people," Kate said.

"I doubt it," Drake replied.  "I bet they have scales and tentacles."

"Are they gonna eat us?"

"No, they'll probably just blow us up."

Kate began to cry and Lillia hurried up the steps.

"Drake!" she said as she entered the room, but Drake was hugging Kate and apologizing.

"I'm sorry," he said.  He turned back to Kate.  "I was only kidding.  I promise."

Lillia set the food before them, poured drinks, and handed Kate half a sandwich.  They sat cross-legged and ate.

"What're we gonna do?" Drake asked.

"I don't know."

"Do you think we'll have school Monday?"

"I don't know, Drake.  It depends on what happens.  We need a TV."

"Timmy has a TV."

"Yeah but he lives too far away."

Kate tugged at Lillia's skirt and said, "Can I go to the bathroom?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

"I'm scared."

"Want me to go with you?"

"Uh-huh."

"Okay."

Lillia stood and led Kate across the hall and Drake followed.  Kate went into the bathroom alone, and with the door shut, Drake said, "We could borrow a TV from one of the neighbors.  Everybody's leaving."

"That's stealing," Lillia said.  "And breaking and entering."

"So what?"

"We wouldn't even know who's home and who isn't."

"The people across the street left.  I saw them.  They had suitcases and everything."

"It's not an option," Lillia said.

"But you said--"

"No, Drake.  We'll figure something out.  Right now we need to wait till things settle down.  And we need to stay inside."