The Storm Gathers
LITTLE ROCK UNIVERSITY WAS WELL-KNOWN BY NOW FOR ITS COMPUTER hacker, Matthew Benteen; he'd already gained access to all the personal files--not the mention the personnel files--and programmed every computer in the school to turn off right in the middle of a very busy period. Other than that though he was quite harmless, and would just stay down in the Hub basement working at his computer. Nobody ever called him Matthew; for some reason he had the nickname Puck, and so that was what they all called him. In the morning he would bring in the mail on his bike and deliver papers to different parts of the campus, usually throwing to hit somebody as they walked outside. Right now he was alone in the dark, the only light, coming from the computer screen, shining palely on his long, thin face and reflecting in his grayish-green eyes. They were unusually pale; they took in everything, like those of a curious lab rat, and betrayed nothing. Indeed that was what Puck reminded most of the students of--a lab rat let loose in a huge maze set with all sorts of twists and turns, simply to discover what he could. His curly blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, one stray lock occasionally falling in his face, only to be swept back thoughtlessly by his hand. The clicking and clacking of keys filled the dim room as he typed; what he typed would be near impossible to understand for any of the other students as it was mostly code; anybody coming in would have a hard time figuring out what he was doing. He quit typing and started up the printer, printing out what he'd just done and putting it in a leather portfolio nearby, then logging out and stretching his arms as the screen went black with only the DOS prompt showing. [Note--I wrote this back when we had an older computer--a Tandy running Windows 3.1--which would bring up the DOS screen after exiting Windows. Eegh creepy!] It was past midnight but that was usual for him, as he went to bed late every night. Those who were quartered nearby could often hear him typing on his laptop or stalking around the college in the wee hours of the morning since, even after he went to sleep, he'd wake up again an hour or two later, do something they knew nothing of, and then go back to sleep. He sustained himself on very little sleep. Nobody knew how he did it but nobody questioned either. The college was full of rather unusual people and he was the rule, not the exception.
Puck turned off the computer and swiveled around in his chair--the room was used only for storage so he had it all to himself any time he wanted to use it--picking up the portfolio and getting up to leave. He yawned as he went, for even light sleepers get tired, and headed for the dormitory.
It was a walk of several yards across the campus green to the dorm. The moon was washing the ground in tones of blue as Puck wrapped his jacket closely around him and trudged on his way in the summer coolness. He stopped more than once to glance up at the constellations or the northern lights which occasionally flickered and blurred the navy blue sky. He'd learned all of them a long time ago but remembered only a few; right now he saw none that he knew except for one, the name of which escaped him, and continued on his way. It didn't really matter anyway.
He knew he'd be waking up again soon after he went to bed; why he always did he didn't quite understand. It'd been that way for years now. It didn't bother him though so he shrugged it off. He had a room by himself since he'd come to the college later in the year and this bothered him not at all. As soon as he got there he yawned, tossed his coat onto a nearby chair, and collapsed immediately on the bed. He was asleep almost as soon as, to use the cliche, his head hit the pillow.
Dreams.
His mind was in a fog; then the fog came out and enveloped him, closing in on him from all sides.
He wasn't alone.
Somehow he sensed it. He could only turn slowly in circles and stare off into the gray fog which, though it must be night, was lit somehow. Then he understood that there was a light behind it, obscured so he couldn't see.
And there were figures emerging from the fog.
He simply stood where he was, unafraid. Somehow he had the feeling he'd been here before, and nothing bad had come of it, so he had no reason to be afraid. The figures came up close, shorter than him, and he could look down at them. They took his hands and led him into the fog. He realized dimly, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he seemed to be floating above the ground instead of walking. When they stopped, he stopped also and looked around.
What are the words that you use?
He looked at them again, not understanding. They'd never really addressed him before; before he'd only felt their reassurances (but had there been a before?) and had not been able to make out actual words. But now they were speaking to him directly. He found himself replying, though not aloud since it was unnecessary.
I don't know what you mean.
The words from your fingers. How do you use them?
Now he got it. Typing. They were asking, of course, about the computer. Their language was strange and difficult for him to interpret.
It's a machine. I spell out the words and the machine makes them appear.
And what does it mean?
He couldn't quite answer them there. It means whatever you like it to.
Why are you not afraid of us?
He shrugged mentally.
I've been here before, he said simply.
That was when he sat bolt upright, sweating and suddenly fully awake. He turned and looked at the clock. It read 2:47. Right on the mark. Just like every other night. He shuddered--he had no idea why tonight the dream should shake him up so--and got out of bed, starting to pace around the room to work it off. He always had a strange feeling when he awoke. Usually he didn't remember any dream; and when he did it never scared him, just puzzled him a little. Tonight he had a different feeling about it, almost a sort of foreboding. He didn't know why. After a while he stopped pacing and glanced at the clock again. The soft glowing numbers read 3:16. With a sigh he crossed the room and got back into bed. It wouldn't be long before he was asleep again, the dream forgotten.
Somehow, deep down in his sixth sense, he knew that was just a lie.
He finally stepped out into bright sunlight and looked around, squinting. [Note--the "he" now referred to here is not Puck.] He wasn't used to this after being in the dark for so long. Leaving the sanctuary of the trees, he entered the field and glanced upward at the sky. A vast expanse of blueness met him and he had to look away because it hurt his eyes. There was nothing else to be seen. Of course it was still too early. He sighed and trudged through the grass towards the fence several hundred yards away.
That was when he heard them.
He stopped, cocking his head to listen. Faint rustling sounds came from the woods. Then--voices. Dogs barking once in a while. They were looking for him. Panicked, he started to run off across the field before they could catch up.
Puck had come out earlier in the morning to ride horseback. His friend Javier Martinez had taught him how several months before and he was finally starting to like it. [Note--now with what I know of Puck, he doesn't strike me as much of a horse person.] He still remembered how jolty it had been at first, how he'd been jarred up and down and up and down and Javi had told him to ride with the horse, and he'd replied Well what do you think I'm doing? After several weeks and many leg cramps he'd started to get it right. Now he reined in the horse and dismounted, leading it to a sag in the fence and tying it loosely. He walked away several yards, stretching and breathing in the summer air. He didn't know he was being watched. He continued on for a moment and then sat down on a rock jutting from the field, lying on his back and observing the clouds above. From far away he could hear the sound of dogs barking. Probably some kid taking his beagles out for a walk. Then his horse whinnied softly, and there was the sound of hoofbeats. He sat up with a start.
Some guy was stealing his horse!
With a yell to stop, he jumped off the rock and ran after the thief. The person turned to look back at him and Puck saw in his eyes a bottomless terror. It took him a second to realize it was not him he was afraid of. Puck turned around to look behind him, and was amazed at what he saw.
From the woods emerged at least a dozen men--military, from the looks of it. They had German shepherds on leashes which barked furiously and strained at the leashes in an attempt to break free. They had guns.
It was all he could do to step to the side to avoid being trampled. Several of the men surrounded him and he put up his hands, dazed. The others continued after the horse thief as if they hadn't even seen him. A gun nudged his shoulder and he dropped his arms automatically.
"You didn't see nothing, you hear me?" one of the men said. He nodded, unable to speak. [Note--Puck is a sociopath. Meaning, I REALLY don't think his response to being told, by an authority, to behave himself would be met with silent compliance. At the very least he would say something catty.] One of the others grabbed his arm and asked, "Which way did he go?"
Puck looked at him, and for some reason found himself pointing off at the other side of the field--not in the direction the person had taken his horse. He felt compelled somehow to lie, and he didn't know just why. [Note--maybe because--that's what he would NORMALLY do! Let's just say that...Puck is the kind of person who would point one way, the military guys would go running, and then they'd all run off a cliff, the end.]
"Remember what I said," the first soldier warned, and they were off, calling the others to follow them in the new direction. Then they were gone, and it was all over, just like that. Puck was left standing in the middle of the empty field, with the strange feeling that this was somehow too familiar. [Note--this is part of the clunky subplot that would likely be edited in a rewrite.]
"Pardon me, but do you know the way to the main office?"
Anders jumped at the voice and the gentle touch of a hand upon his shoulder. Turning, he very nearly jumped again--standing above him was a young man whom he'd never seen before, but aside from that, his eyes were large, round--and totally black.
It took Anders a second to realize this was not true--they were merely dark glasses, and the person held a black, white-tipped cane. Of course. He was blind. Suppressing a sigh of relief--for some reason the dark glasses had made him think of something, something which immediately fled his mind--he stood up to face him.
"Did I startle you?" the blind man asked.
"A little," Anders said, forcing a smile to show he was okay--before realizing it didn't really matter, this guy couldn't see. But the blind man smiled back, causing him to start mentally. How...? But the blind man spoke again before he could voice that thought.
"I'm new here," he said, holding out his hand. Anders felt a little relieved again now that he stuck it out in his general direction, as if expecting guidance. "Name's Gavin MacLeod." [Note--no, NO relation to The Love Boat! I honestly had no clue there was a famous person named Gavin MacLeod!]
"Anders Carlsson," Anders replied, taking Gavin's hand and shaking it. Gavin's grip was good and firm. Unlike mine, which I believe I'm starting to lose, Anders thought absently. "Welcome to LRU."
"That's what you all call it?" Gavin turned around in slow circles as if looking at the sky, though Anders knew he couldn't see. Or did he? He stopped and held up his wrist, and Anders saw a watch with a small plastic dome on top. Gavin popped it open and felt the face of the watch with his fingers, then snapped it shut and picked up the case he'd dropped beside him when he'd held out his hand. "I think I'm late. Could you direct me to the main office, Anders Carlsson?"
Anders smiled again. "Just Anders. Sure, but how..."
Gavin tapped the ground with his cane. "Just keep talking to me," he said with another smile of his own. "Tell me the weather, the sights, the latest news."
For a moment Anders had the distinct feeling Gavin was going to say Tell me your dreams, but it passed and he started off, talking nonstop about what Gavin had told him, except to point out possible obstacles. [Note--I believe what I meant there was, he talked nonstop about everything Gavin had mentioned, STOPPING TALKING ONLY to point out obstacles.] The two made their way slowly to the main building.
The constant snap-snap-snap was really beginning to get on Puck's nerves. After a while he looked up, irritated, in the direction of the intruder in his domain, who was busily snapping pictures of everything in sight.
"You look like a damn fudgie," he said. [Note--any reader of Manitou Island will know that "fudgie" is a mildly derogatory northern Michigan term for tourists of the most stereotypical sort. The name comes from such tourists' habit of stopping by Mackinac Island, buying fudge, taking a few photos, and going back home, the end. Damn fudgies.] "What the hell are you taking pictures of, anyway?"
"In case you didn't know, right now you're pretty big on campus," the photographer, Damon Barrymore, replied, pausing to shoot a makeshift file of Puck's. [Note--recall Damon of Men In Black; you can read more about him there.] "After that little incident with the print room's computers, I mean."
Puck knew what Damon was talking about. About a week ago he'd programmed every computer in the main building to black out and show only the word FEAR. Of course everybody went nuts trying to correct the problem and relocate their files. Luckily none of the personnel had figured out just who the perpetrator was, and though the students knew, they weren't telling. But he couldn't figure out what the big deal was. He'd done similar things before, and anybody could do it if they had the knowledge. Still it enhanced his reputation for some reason and now Damon was taking pictures of him for the campus newspaper. He snorted and turned back to the monitor, typing furiously.
"I don't see what the big deal is," he muttered, vocalizing his exact thoughts.
Damon stopped snapping pictures and turned to him, only to quickly lift his camera again and catch Puck in action. Puck glared at him briefly, then went back to typing. "The big deal is that you're the only person on campus who has the abilities you do. Heck, probably the only person in this county."
"Anybody can do it if they just study up enough."
"Is that what you did?"
Puck stopped typing, thoughtful. He never really had studied up, in the exact sense of the word; sure he'd read a few books, tried a few gadgets, but mostly he'd learned it on his own. To put it simply there was no way anybody on the campus could learn the things he had; he'd basically gained them from intuition. "I guess not," he said, resuming, the screen reflecting in his eyes. "But they still probably could." Probably.
He heard another snap. "Maybe so, but I wouldn't count on them getting as good at it as you. I guess the people here just aren't as motivated by computers or whatever as you are. Except Cosmo. She loves computers, but she's certainly no hacker--"
He was cut short by the sound of thumping footsteps coming down the stairs, then somebody pounding on the door. Puck looked up, annoyed, but Damon walked quickly across the room and pulled it open. Dino Garris, Anders's roommate, bounced in, breathless, and glanced at Puck.
"Damon here?" he panted.
Puck jerked his head in Dino's direction and once more went back to typing. Damon held up his hand, momentarily stunned by this sudden entrance. Dino turned to him, jumped back considerably since he hadn't noticed him before, then came forward again.
"Damon, it's your brother Gabe. He freaked out in computer class. They took him to the first aid center."
He found himself talking to air now occupying the space Damon had been in earlier. Damon, on hearing his brother's name, had instantly fled the building, and was already at the top of the stairs and running across the lawn by the time Dino finished. Not again, he was thinking.
Several minutes later Damon burst into the first aid center, startling the several nurses there. He swept in up to the counter and was forced to catch his breath before speaking to the nurse standing there, looking at him as if he were crazy.
"You must be Gabriel's brother Damon," she said, saving him the trouble. "If so he's in back. He's okay. They just had to give him a little sedative to calm him down."
Damon said thank you and pushed his way to the examination room. It was a small building and there was only one, so he knew where it was located. He didn't mean to be rude; however, he knew they couldn't keep his brother here for long without any more trouble. He was surprised they hadn't gotten it already.
He entered the room to find a doctor standing off to the side, reading a file, and his brother sitting on the edge of a table, his head in his hands. Walking softly across the floor so as not to startle him, he placed his hand on his shoulder. Gabriel looked up at him, his eyes red-rimmed and unfocused.
"He's still a little hazy from the shot," the doctor explained. "He should come to any time now."
That's what I'm afraid of, Damon thought, but decided not to say it. Instead he said to Gabriel, "Gabe? Are you feeling okay?"
Gabriel stared at him for a moment, swaying slightly; then he looked across the room and stared at the wall; his eyes rolled back, and he pitched forward.
Damon and the doctor reached out to grab him before he hit the floor and laid him back on the table. "For God's sake, what is he, epileptic?" the doctor said, stuffing a pillow behind his head. "If so how come nobody ever told me?"
"He isn't epileptic," Damon said, staring at him. Gabriel's eyelids fluttered briefly, and he opened them, staring up at the ceiling lights. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth, Damon was sure to scream, but before he could Damon placed his hand on his shoulder and it was stifled in his throat. Gabriel turned his head and saw his brother looking down at him, and let his breath out.
"They got you, too?" he asked in a small, weak voice.
"No," Damon replied softly. "You're in the first aid center. At LRU."
Gabriel turned his head to examine the room. When he was sure of--whatever the hell he was sure of, the doctor thought with confusion, he slowly sat up and swung his legs off the table, standing shakily. [Note--sorry for the lousy POV shifts. I'm over that by now.] The doctor put out his hand to steady him.
"Does your family have a past history of medical problems?" he asked as Gabriel and Damon walked carefully towards the door. "Any epilepsy, diabetes, mental disorders? If so maybe you should--"
"No, they don't!" Damon snapped. Gabriel stopped and stared at him, curious about his angry reaction. Damon rarely ever got mad. "Neither of us has any kind of disease or mental disorder. At least, none you can diagnose." With that he took Gabriel's arm and led him from the room, slamming the door behind them and leaving the doctor alone.
For a little while the doctor just stared at the closed door, all manners of bafflement rising up in him. The look on Gabriel's face upon awakening, and his words They got you, too?, were burned into his memory. Frustrated, he sat down and tried reading over his files, but Gabriel's voice, weird and somehow terrified beyond description, rang in his head.
They got you, too?
"They," who? Just who were they?
The rest of the people on campus at LRU were getting ready for the Summer Jamboree. [Note--it seems like in ALL of my college stories, there's some kind of huge campuswide party going on...I don't know why this is. Odd phenomenon. Hm.] All around the green fair rides were being set up, and behind the dorm a sort of track was set up to test the horses which were to be performing in a show. On a cleared spot on the lawn students rehearsed a dance they'd put together, out of costume. The costumes wouldn't be ready until later. He stopped in the middle of the main avenue, looking around him with amazement. The rides reminded him. They all did. He started walking along again; several of the dogs and horses being walked along shied away or snorted as he did but he ignored them. What his eyes were now fixed on was the ride straight ahead of him, a giant, silver-red-and-blue disk-shaped thing called the Gravitron. [Note--a real fair ride. I never went on it though. I heard that if you throw up in it, your puke comes back to hit you in the face!]
He stopped right in front of it, staring. It took him a moment to realize the ticketmaster was yelling at him, did he want a ride or not? He shook his head and the disk started spinning slowly, then gathered speed, looking very much like a child's toy top
something else
or something else; he turned as soon as he could hear screaming within the disk and decided to check out the other rides. One looked particularly interesting; the Orbiter, with its seats flying out every which way, turning the passengers on their sides. [Note--another real fair ride. I did go on this one, with my dad. Real conversation we had at the time--me: "I...can't...breathe..." Dad: "That's okay." See also Akhenaton & Nefertiti (final draft).] Everybody was screaming like crazy but they seemed to like it. But no matter where he looked everything reminded him of
home they remind you of home
something he couldn't quite put his finger on. [Note--this odd writing technique, interspersing random disjointed thoughts among the actual narration, was inspired by Stephen King. I utilized it most in this story, but don't do it much anymore. I think it worked best in Minot, e. g., Chapters 1 and 13.] He started walking again, slowly this time, gazing at the different game booths indifferently. They weren't as interesting as the rides. Then he noticed the livestock barns, and decided to see what they were about.
He preferred these much more than the bustling noise of the thoroughfare. [Note--I meant the midway.] The barns were nearly empty except for a few people milling around complaining about the smell and, of course, the animals. The first one he entered housed chickens and rabbits; he poked his finger into several cages without so much as getting bitten even once; in fact, the animals would come up close to be petted, like he knew they would. The second housed pigs; he wasn't particularly interested in them, nor in the sheep in the third barn, though they were friendly; as he entered the fourth he could see dozens of little black eyes staring at him.
Cows.
He stepped in. This barn was completely deserted. Obviously because of the smell, though it didn't bother him at all. He looked around at all of the cows in their little booths, feeling sorry for them being so cramped. He noted particularly a huge brown one, a bull named Stomper according to the nametag on his booth, with a sign below that which read "Please stay away from me. I have a really bad temper. I kick and bite!" [Note--I actually do sometimes come across signs like that on the animal pens at our county fair. Like the animals themselves wrote them. Do other fairs do that?] The bull snorted and pawed its hay as he stepped up closer, ignoring the sign's warning. He walked slowly up beside it and stopped when it let out a loud grunt. He held out his hand towards its muzzle, and for a moment the bull showed its huge white teeth, capable of snapping his fingers right off.
And it licked his hand.
He smiled faintly in the dim light, reaching out and petting its head. The bull snorted and its tongue lolled out of its mouth, its eyes rolling back stupidly. But it was almost as if he could communicate with it
the owls watch out for the owls that come down from the sky
and sense its fear of being here, with all these
owls owls owls with big big eyes
people crowding around. It rubbed its large head on his shoulder and he laughed and scratched behind its ear, unaware of the little girl standing in the entrance, staring with amazement at this strange man who was petting her very ill-tempered bull.
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