James Axler – Shadowfall

It was comfortable to slip into the dark, away from all worries, no longer any need to fight against it.

The only thing stopping him was a tiny bright bead of light, like a dazzling eye, searching him out in the black sludge, homing in on him like a missile seeking its target, becoming larger and brighter.

Dean pushed his hands out, as though warding off a blow, trying to hinder the swelling light from preventing him from enjoying the bliss of restful sleep.

It felt as though someone were shaking him hard, an angry giant mutie that dwelled within the silent depths of the thick, welcoming ooze, squeezing his wet body.

RYAN HAD RUN AWAY from the bench, leaving the wriggling mess behind him on the raked gravel walk, the taste horrid in his dry mouth.

He entered the maze of dark, bitter yews, boxed around him, twenty feet high, a fear of the demiurge pursuing him, driving him deeper into the heart of the riddle.

It was beginning to snow. The large, soft white flakes settled on the trodden ground and on the hedges, on his own dark curly hair and across his broad shoulders, soaking through him.

There was painful pressure in his chest, across his temples, behind his eyes, holding him from the rest he desperately wanted, probing at his nape, squeezing his wet body.

MILDRED STRAIGHTENED, smiling at the anxious faces around her in the control room of the mat-trans unit.

“They’re both coming around now,” she said. “Father and son recovering together.”

Krysty sighed. “Good.” She shook her head. “One thing I don’t understand is why they both smell of smoke and why they’re both soaking wet.”

Chapter Five

Recovering consciousness was only a part of getting to feel better.

The triple jump had taken a grave toll of both Ryan and his son, weakening them both physically and mentally.

As soon as they’d appeared together in the gateway, almost exactly a half hour after Ryan had made his jump, Mildred had gotten to them, throwing open the door before the disks had ceased glowing. She wrinkled her nose at the stink of burned plastic that hung in the chamber and was puzzled at the water that dripped from their clothes.

She helped Trader, J.B., Abe, Krysty and Jak to haul them out and lay them on the floor of the control area.

“They chilled?” Abe had asked, staring down at the two unconscious figures.

“They’ll be fine.” Mildred had turned them both onto their sides, probing with her finger to make sure neither swallowed his tongue. “Pulse and respiration are about what you’d expect after what they’ve been through.”

Twelve worrying minutes passed without much sign of returning life. Then they had both come around together.

“FEELING BETTER?” Krysty asked, sitting on the floor beside Ryan.

“Some. How long since we finished that last jump? Guess I must’ve dozed off again.”

She checked his chron. “Closing in toward two hours.”

He sniffed. “What I need is a hot bath, some food and then sleep for a couple of days.”

“That’s all, lover?” She touched him on the thigh.

Ryan managed a smile. “Nice try, Krysty. Thanks, but no thanks. Not just yet.”

“Can’t blame me for trying.”

“I don’t, lover.”

“How’s Dean?”

“Better than his old man, if you want the truth. Resilience of youth, and all that.”

“He ready to go out and explore the redoubt?”

Krysty thought about that for a few moments, then nodded. “Guess so. How about you?”

Ryan pressed his hand to his temple. “Can’t remember feeling so wrung-out. Times that I curse those predark whitecoats for not making jumps easier to take.”

Doc had wandered over to join them. “There are few waking hours in my life when I don’t curse the whitecoats for what they’ve done. But credit where it’s due. The work on matter-transfer systems had been going on in ultrasecret for some time. One of the scientists told me that it was triggered back in the 1950s by a horror film called The Fly . There was matter-transfer jumping in that.”

“Did it work, or did the hero finish up with a real bad headache?” Ryan queried.