"Listen," Bill said, sticking his head out the window. "The clanging's stopped."
"Doesn't matter," Jack said. "It's too late. We're not going to make it back. Even if we had a goddam plane we couldn't make it back in one piece."
The storm door slammed then, and there came old George Haskins lugging two blanket-wrapped objects in his arms like sick children.
"There you go," he said, dumping them into Jack's waiting hands.
One bundle was square and bulky, the other long and slim. And they were heavy. Bill took the smaller one and together they placed them on the back seat, then Jack was diving for the driver seat.
"It's been great talking to you, George, but we've got to run."
"Good luck, boys," Haskins said, heading back to his front door. "I don't know what this all means, but I sure hope it works out."
The rear wheels kicked gravel as Jack accelerated down the road. He glanced at the rearview mirror and saw Haskins standing on the stoop, watching them go. He couldn't be sure in the dim light but he thought he saw a group of knee-high figures clustered around his legs. Then Haskins waved—they all waved.
Blinking his eyes to clear them, Jack concentrated on the road.
Somewhere beyond the mists that masked the sky, the sun was setting for the last time.
"We're not going to make it," Jack said. "No way we can get back alive."
"We've got to give it our best shot," Bill said. "We don't have any other options that I can see."
"Oh, we'll give it one hell of a shot, Billy boy. One hell of a shot."
But we're not going to make it.
WNEW-FM
JO: This is it, Folks. It's 3:01 in the afternoon. Supposedly the last sunset. If Sapir's curve is right, the last time we'll ever see the sun.
FREDDY: Yeah. Nobody's offered us any hope, so we can't pass any on to you. We wish we could, but—
JO: And don't ask us why we're here because we don't know ourselves. Maybe 'cause it's the only thing we know how to do.
FREDDY: Whatever, we'll keep on doing it as long as the generators hold out, so keep us on as long as you've got batteries to spare. If we hear anything we'll let you know. And if you hear anything, call us on the CB and we'll pass it on.
JO: Anyway you look at it, it's gonna be a long night.
Part III
NIGHT
Aaaahh! NIGHT. Endless night. Everlasting darkness.
Rasalom turns within his fluid-filled chrysalis and revels in the fresh waves of panic seeping through from the nightworld above. Darkness reigns supreme. His dominion is established beyond all doubt. A fait accompli.
Except for one flaw, one minuscule spot of hope—Glaeken's building. But that is a calculated flaw. It, too, will fade once its residents realize that all their puny efforts to reassemble the weapon are for nought. It is too late—too late for anything. The juices from those crushed hopes will be SWEET.
All Rasalom need do now is await the completion of the Change at the undawn tomorrow, then break free from this shell to officially lay claim to this world. His world.
And he is nearly there. He feels the final strands of the metamorphosis drawing tight around and through him. And when it is done, he will rise to the surface and allow Glaeken to gaze on the new Rasalom, to shrink in awe and fear from his magnificence before the life is slowly crushed from his body.
Soon now.
Very soon.
End Play
MANHATTAN
"Where can they be?
Carol knew she was being a pest, that no one in the room—neither Sylvia, nor Jeffy, nor Ba, not Nick, not even Glaeken himself—could answer the question she'd repeated at least two dozen times in the past hour, but she couldn't help herself.
"I know I'm not supposed to be afraid, I know that's what Rasalom wants, but I can't help it. I'm scared to death something's happened to Bill. And Jack."
"That's not fear," Glaeken said. "That's concern. There's an enormous difference. The fear that Rasalom thrives on is the dread, the panic, the terror, the fear for one's self that paralyzes you, makes you hate and distrust everyone around you, that forces you either to lash out at anyone within reach or to crawl into a hole and huddle alone and miserable in the dark. The fear that cuts you off from hope and from each other, that's what he savors. This isn't fear you're feeling, Carol. It's anxiety, and it springs from love."
Carol nodded. That was all fine and good…
"But where are they?"
"They're gone," Nick said.
Carol's stomach plummeted as she turned toward him. Glaeken, too, was staring at him intently.
Nick hadn't answered her all the other times she'd asked the same question. Why now?
"Wh-What do you mean?" she said.
"They're gone," he repeated, his voice quavering. "They're not out there. Father Bill and the other one—they've disappeared."
Carol watched in horror as a tear slid down Nick's cheek. She turned to Glaeken.
"What does he mean?"
"He's wrong," Glaeken said, but his eyes did not hold quite the conviction of his words. "He has to be."
"But he sees things we don't," Carol said. "And he hasn't been wrong yet. Oh, God!"
She began to sob. She couldn't help it. Lying in Bill's arms last night had been the first time since Jim's death that she had felt like a complete, fully functioning human being. She couldn't bear to lose him now.
Or was this part of a plan?
She swallowed her sobs and wiped away her tears.
"Is this another of Rasalom's games?" she asked Glaeken. "Feed us a little hope, let us taste a little happiness, make us ache for a future and then crush us by snatching it all away?"
Glaeken nodded. "That is certainly his style."
"Well then, fuck him!" she said.
The words shocked her. She never used four-letter words. They simply were not part of her vocabulary. But this had leapt from her—and it seemed right. It capsulized the anger she felt. She glanced over to where Jeffy sat reading a picture book with Sylvia. He wasn't paying attention. She turned back to Glaeken.
"Fuck. Him." There, she'd said it again, but in a lower voice this time. "He's not getting anything from me. I won't be afraid, I won't lose hope, I won't give up."
She went to the huge curved sofa, picked up a magazine, and sat down to read it. But she couldn't see the trembling page through her freshly welling tears.
The Movie Channeclass="underline"
interrupted transmission
"Got to be those things in the back seat," Jack said in a hushed voice.
Bill said nothing. He held his breath and leaned away from the passenger side window as the countless tentacles brushed across its surface.
Hurry up! A giant, tentacled slug blocked their way on Broadway as it squeezed into 47th Street. He mentally urged it to keep moving and get out of their way.
"This happened to me once before," Jack went on. "With the rakoshi. As long as I was wearing one of the necklaces, they couldn't see me. One or both of those things Haskins gave us was made from the necklaces. This has got to be the same kind of effect. I mean, look at that slug. It's ignoring us like we don't even exist." He flashed a smile at Bill. "Isn't this neat?"
"Oh, yeah," Bill said. "Real neat."
The whole trip had been like a dream, an interminable nightmare. The horrors from the holes had taken over—completely. Their movements had lost the frantic urgency of all past nights. Now they were more deliberate, no longer like an invading army, but rather like an occupying force.