Alex poured steaming water into his mug. He bobbed the tea bag up and down and let it rest, dropping the attached string over the mug’s rim and let the tea steep.
Steep…
The word reminded him of his mother and how they would sometimes chat over a cup of tea in the evenings, just the two of them. He longed for those days again; he longed for a sense of normalcy and yearned to see his family whole once more. Alex scooped up the teabag and wrapped the string around it and the teaspoon, squeezing every last bit out of the bag. He added sugar and milk and as he stirred, became transfixed on the action. His mind wandered and he tried to remember when he had last seen his mother and father, but the memory just wasn’t there. Were they safe? Had they survived?
A tingle in his temple nudged Alex from his reverie and he picked up the mug and walked to the kitchen table. He sat down and sipped his tea, then opened the notepad and glanced at the entry penned there.
Shadow on porch. Thursday, 7:51 a.m.
Alex raised the mug to his lips but paused, then set it back down on the table, thinking about those written words.
Thursday…today is Thursday…this was written today.
Alex had no memory of penning those words, but he recognized his own writing. He read further.
Observed shadow in house, exited through front screen door and vanished in yard. Evidence of convergence.
Alex looked away from the notepad. Convergence? What the hell does that mean? Convergence of what?
Alex remembered witnessing a strange shadow in the house before but had dismissed it as just an imagined occurrence. He had no recollection of recording this morning’s observance.
Taking his tea with him, Alex left the table and moved into the front room and stared out the windows toward the yard. When he raised the mug to his mouth to take a sip, he noticed that it was unfamiliar to him. On the white ceramic were two words printed in bold, blue letters: Reece Farm. He found it odd that he hadn’t noticed this particular mug before and he returned to the kitchen to find his usual one. After searching the cabinet and the dish rack by the sink, however, he came up empty.
Where the hell could it have gone? It was only him living in these quarters.
An uneasiness overcame Alex. and he became filled with the notion that he was in a stranger’s house. He shivered. Behind him, floorboards creaked, and he spun to find a shadow five feet away. Alex, his mouth agape, tried to digest what it was he was seeing. His mind tried to solve this otherworldly equation by matching the shape to something in the room. Nothing, however, stood between it and the light fixture over the table. It was the light, the shadow, then the wall…no object from which a shadow might be cast.
Suddenly, the shape left the kitchen and drifted through the living room, as though it had never been affixed to the wall in the first place. Alex’s pulse kicked into overdrive.
How the hell is that possible? Alex thought.
Alex followed it and then came to a hard stop as it did something that absolutely floored him…it opened the front door and exited. The sight chilled his blood to ice.
What is this thing? How is this possible?
Dazed, Alex again glimpsed the shadow beyond the window as it navigated the wraparound porch and only now realized that it was…short…like it belonged to a child. By the time he stepped through the screen door and onto the wide planked floor, he lost sight of it as it rounded the corner of the house.
Alex hurried past white chairs lining the wall, the last of them rocking back and forth, as if it had been bumped into. At the corner of the house, he turned and gazed disbelievingly as the shape wandered into the yard. It breezed past a low hedge of boxwoods at the end of the driveway and continued toward the fields.
This was not a shade affected by any device of flesh and blood obscuring the sun. This was a wraith that moved independently of any material object; a rogue shadow that had somehow become separated from its counterpart and traveled not along the contours of the ground, but upright, through the air.
Though he had wandered after the sentient vapor, Alex had lost sight of it when it entered the corn field. Despite its childlike form, it hadn’t slipped quietly into the crops but instead produced noise as it pressed its way through the foliage. The stalks yielded to its essence, as if it had been more than a mere silhouette.
Alex tracked the phantom perhaps a dozen rows deep before halting. He considered investigating further but then resisted the urge. Retreating to the safety of the yard, he stared back into the patchwork of vegetation. A deep, primal fear prevented him from crossing the edge of the lawn and reentering the field.
Cicadas sang their mid-summer song as the sun descended toward the horizon. Alex studied the lush green ocean of corn. From behind him, the sun cast his own distorted shadow deep into the twisting greenery. The wind forced the tall stalks to sway and as the thousands upon thousands of leaves collided, they forged a hypnotic cadence, which Alex found reminiscent of the ceaseless drone of breaking waves. Mesmerized by the sound and the phenomenon he had just witnessed, he could almost feel the entire plot of land cresting and falling, like undulant surf.
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He surveyed the rest of the land. Alex stared out past the barn and the silo, toward where he’d seen the light burst. Where the tractor had vanished, appeared to have travelled a short distance, then reappeared. What the hell was going on? Was he losing his mind?
The cry of a red-tailed hawk caused Alex to gaze skyward. A soft rumble of thunder in the distance warned of an approaching storm and a strengthening wind stirred the corn stalks, causing their whispers to grow angrier. Alex observed the hawk coasting on the rising currents and then back toward the progressing storm, noting the contrast of peace and approaching violence and wondered if it was an omen.
Alex winced as something stung his back. He reached behind him trying to grab the bramble or whatever it was that had spiked him. Then he cried out in pain as electrical current pulsed through his body, setting his nerves on fire. his nervous system. He dropped to his knees as another current racked him. He fell onto his side and as his vision dimmed, he looked upon the face of his assailant: a man in a metallic helmet , with domed eyes.
*********
Younger Gus trotted ahead of Lacy and older Gus, adding distance to the already significant gap between them. She called out to him to wait, but he didn’t listen. “Just like you used to do,” she said to older Gus, who raised his eyes toward her.
The younger dog halted and sniffed the air. He whimpered, then continued trotting. Lacy glanced behind them, toward the Little League complex where they’d taken shelter. They’d slept inside the concession stand. She’d played softball there as a young girl and then later, in high school. Now, it was an overgrown tangle of weeds and other strange-looking plant life that she had been careful not to touch.
The road behind them was clear as far as the eye could see, but when Lacy turned back toward the stretch of asphalt before them, she saw that it had ended abruptly. A massive network of vines and vegetation had consumed the road and, from all appearances, anything beyond this point.
Young Gus had stopped ten feet in front of the growth. His head was raised, and his snout tested the air.
“Stop!” shouted Lacy. The dog sat and glanced back toward her. Older Gus stopped in his tracks and mimicked his younger version.
Lacy approached with extreme caution, weapon ready. She stepped past Older Gus and he stood and took a step. “Stay,” Lacy commanded and he sat back down. When she reached the younger dog, she grabbed his collar and began to pull him backward when something stirred.
The growth shivered and began rearranging itself. Vines moved aside and slowly revealed a large mass that seemed agitated. The leaves of this mass unfurled with exquisite grace, the movements fluid and almost intoxicating. Lacy relaxed her grip on the dog’s collar and stepped toward the thing. Layer upon layer opened, finally revealed: a glowing white orb.
Lacy released the dog and crept closer and the sphere of light began to twinkle. It was beautiful…mesmerizing. She dropped her weapon and moved toward it. She was so entranced that she failed to notice the release of a fine black dust from within the system of vines. She wanted to touch the light…needed to touch it. As if sensing her desire, the orb’s pulsing intensified. Lacy raised an outstretched hand and reached for it.
*********
What was left of the Machine hovered outside of the barn, sunlight glimmering off its lustrous shell. Its red light scanned a transfixed Watley as he stood just inside the structure, possessed by the orb’s gaze. The black globe processed the event and then felt the white light acknowledge it. It examined the Machine and then executed a command – a signal that reached far beyond the bounds of this existence.
The globe was alerted to another presence and spun its red light behind it. There, previously unoccupied, stood the hulking mass of another Machine. A newer Machine, stronger than its predecessor.
The globe hovered for a moment, then eased through the air, stopping in front of its replacement. The new Machine cradled the old one’s globe, emitted a red light into it and instantly retrieved its data. Once the transfer was complete, it dropped the old globe, now devoid of any functionality.
*********
From within the concealment of long unused harvester, Mo watched through his scope as the new Machine walked into existence out of thin air. His heart sank as he pondered the ramifications.
Watley was gone and he couldn’t help but wonder if he might’ve been able to better assist him. He should’ve put him out of his misery. Even now, he contemplated putting a bullet in his head, but that would only seal his fate, with the Machine this close. There was no stopping it. In addition, it would soon realize his location, if it hadn’t already. If it caught him, it would force him to resume the hunt for Alex and the children when all he really cared about was getting to Lacy.
Slinking away from the harvester, Mo crept through vegetation and emerged into a path between the planted rows. He mounted the cycle and for now, quietly slipped away.