James Axler – Starfall

But who set off the nukes?

Krysty walked down the sidewalk, her eyes drawn to the shop windows filled with dresses, electronics, books and other merchandise. All of them seemed to glitter and appear ethereal.

If you talk to different people, you get different answers about that. And most people don’t care at all anymore. It doesn’t matter.

Not to place blame, but to simply know. That’s what we need to hand down.

Krysty remembered some of the stories the companions had heard from the Heimdall Foundation men, Bernsen and Hoyle, while going back to Colorado to get Dean. Even after the nukecaust, the Foundation had dedicated itself to finding out what had truly happened to the world. What good’s the knowing?

The truth shall set you free, Phlorin stated.

I’m not free, Krysty pointed out. I’ve got a ghost wan­dering around in my head, forcing me to see things I’d rather not see, do things I’d rather not do.

All will be explained when we return to my people.

That’s not going to happen.

Oh, it’ll happen. It’ll happen, or I’ll get strong enough eventually to stop your heart. Then we’ll watch your man as you die.

You’ll die, too.

If I don’t get back to my people, Phlorin said, I’m dead anyway.

Silently Krysty hoped that Donovan’s knowledge would be enough to free her from her predicament.

Donovan is only a man, Phlorin said in disgust, and men know precious little as it is. Even before they start deluding themselves about their own grandeur.

But Krysty heard the small tremor of uncertainty in the old woman’s voice. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give her hope.

Evidently Phlorin sensed the emotion because the world changed around Krysty again, warping into a narrow cor­ridor that led through a large house that reminded her of the Cornelius family’s home in Louisiana. Dim light trick­led into the corridor, and she thought she heard sibilant voices in the distance. A cold chill prickled her skin, run­ning across her shoulders and making her spine feel brittle.

You don’t like it here, do you? Phlorin taunted. And her voice seemed changed, as well, fitting into the creaking old manse as if it belonged.

No. Krysty froze in place, trying to ignore the slither of wet flesh cascading through the corridor behind her. It wasn’t real, she told herself. None of it was real. But at one point, it had been all too real and she knew it.

You remember this place, don’t you? You almost lost your man here.

Something lapped out, smacking against the wooden floor. Although she didn’t want to, Krysty ran. It was sur­vival. She didn’t have a weapon in hand, and from the sound of the thing’s progress, it was huge.

Thin gray light peeped out from a set of double doors ahead of her. She aimed for them. She couldn’t remember if the doors or the room beyond them actually existed in the Cornelius house, but it fit with her memory of it now easily.

There’s no hope. No hope at all. I’ll be in your dreams, and I’ll rob you of sleep. You will give in to me. It’s only a matter of time.

Krysty burst through the double doors, a prayer to Gaia on her lips. The doors slammed back against the walls, revealing the dark room ahead of her. The back wall was taken up by the silver screen the companions had watched vids on. Before it were rows of folding chairs all orderly and neat.

The Cornelius family sat in the chairs, their heads swiveling to focus on Krysty as she skidded to a stop in the center of the room. All of them were there: Elric, Thomas, Mary, Norman and Melmoth—pale haired and fiery eyed, like Jak but much, much worse.

“Welcome,” Elric said, rising to his six foot three inch stature. Wasp thin, he looked even paler in death.

And Krysty had no doubts they were dead. The compan­ions had killed them all, ending the Cornelius family line. At least, as far as they knew.

“We wait to greet you properly,” Elric said in those cultured, dulcet tones he’d had. But the words sounded hoarse—papery and thin, like words squeezed through the cracked timber of a coffin.