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Kirk blinked back tears。 And kept on going。
〃From Geetzerburg； take Route 232 to Hanlin；〃 he read。 〃And remember avoid Route 30 east over the river bridge。〃
He hobbled out of frame then； looked out the window。
Down on the Susquehanna； the flames were blooming yellow…gold where a tanker truck had collided with a stalled lane of traffic and ignited。 Flaming victims still tumbled to the rocky waterline； their tiny limbs thrashing wildly。
〃Repeat；〃 he reiterated； limping back into frame。 〃The river bridge is definitely out on Route 30。 Looks permanent； folks。〃
Just then the wind kicked up； and there was a great wrenching sound as it caught the lip of the shed's corrugated roof。 It peeled back like the lid on a sardine can。 Metal and junk rained down； a lug nut the size of a golf ball hit Kirk in the temple； knocking him out cold。
He came to in the wreckage an instant later； jump…charged by adrenaline and immeasurably worse off。 He had a concussion and a crushed rib； and his leg was broken in at least three more places。
〃Oh； fuck； not again；〃 he moaned。 He tried to move。
And found he could not。
Something was pressing against his chest； something huge and unforgiving。 Kirk opened his eyes and found he was pinned beneath the fallen tool shelf； half…buried in parts； staring up into roiling fog and endless； eternal night。 The remains of the tower teetered uncertainly。
The camera lay on its side against the workbench； the tripod toppled。 It was pointing at him； askew and just out of reach。 The 〃record〃 light still glowed red and merciless。
〃Unh；〃 he grunted。 The camera watched。 Kirk struggled under the buckled shelf； fighting down panic。 〃Having a little； unh 。。。 technical difficulty； here； folks。〃
He grunted and heaved； trying to budge the blunt edge of metal that pressed him into the floor like a bug in a science project。
High above； there came the pop pop pop of tension cables snapping like steel slingshots as something heavy broke free； began the long fast descent。 He strained to free himself； and something burst deep in his chest。
Kirk screamed。 His eyes went wide and locked on something ing； big and bright and spinning like a dervish。 A five…hundred…pound strut came pinwheeling down from out of the fog and straight for his face； like the ultimate 3…D effect。
Kirk screamed again。 The camera loved him。
It was a television first。
Fifty…Nine
The first contraction struck at three thirty…five； a tidal wave of ground glass and lethal venom aimed directly at Gwen Taylor's spine。 She'd felt it swell； amassing strength； for nearly thirty seconds before it hit。 She hadn't known what it was； what it meant； or what it held in store。
It hardly mattered。
Nothing in this life could have prepared her for that moment。
The pain was a ragged ratcheting metal fist； a screaming bonesaw violation so far beyond ordinary pain it boiled down endorphins and tortured the steam。 When she screamed； the sound it produced was the worst she could manage。
It wasn't enough。
Gwen stared up； through eyes of anguish； into the widening eyes of her friend。 She watched as Micki's irises dilated； made room for the terrible realization that everything was not okay； no； not even a little。
Gwen was going into labor。
She was going to have her baby。
Right now。
The contraction rode its peak for twenty agonizing seconds； then decayed far too slowly。 On the way back down； she felt her faculties return。 The pain had blowtorched her mind into crisp hyperclarity； for the first time in hours； it was pletely her own。
Oh my God； it whispered silently in her ears。 Watching the mobile spin above the shattered； capsized crib。 Watching the vines press； and squeeze； like an octopus attacking a glass…bottomed boat。
〃Oh my God；〃 she whispered aloud； as Micki wiped high…definition beads of perspiration off her brow。 Watching her dreams turn to rubble before her eyes。
〃Gwen 。。。 〃 All the color had drained from Micki's face。 She looked old in that moment； enfeebled by her terror。
Gwen reached up to touch Micki's face； Micki's hair； to convince herself that this wasn't real； that she hadn't awakened from a dreaming Hell only to find herself trapped in its inner circle。 She blinked her eyes； and the room was still there。 She shut them tight； and the delirium sounds remained。
〃What are we going to do？〃 she quietly implored。
And Micki's response was； 〃I don't know。〃
Behind the cacophonous wall of noise came a different voice： a distant； mounting growl。 A powerful metal avenging roar； angrily surging into sonic dominion。
It took her a moment。
But she recognized the sound。
Gary cried as he twisted the throttle in his hand； the hand that prickled and itched as if drugged to numbing sleep。 The Harley growled in response； engine revving out a mad frantic rhythm of speed and endurance。 His gloves were sodden； his jacket was so damp it felt like the leather would reanimate。 Sooty droplets of living condensation crawled across his visor； looking for a way in； Gary realized that Gwen's present had probably saved his life。 It made him love her all the more； made him want to tell her that。
If he ever saw her again。
Because there was a deathvoice in his head now； a hoarse soul cry shrieking late too late too late； feeding his fear and stoking his guilt as Gary gunned along； a solitary rider on the road to Hell。
Not Hell； he amended。 Hell was a ical conceit in which human beings really mattered。 Hell placed mankind； by simple proximity； at the center of Creation。
There were no such illusions as Gary rode； no fortable pantheon of gods and devils to fall back on。 This land held no place for them； living or dead。 The place that was his home now belonged to something else。
And he was the intruder。
Premature night had fallen like a shroud as the cloud cover thickened and the fog rolled in。 The pillar of fire was visible as a furious red…orange glow on the horizon； a false midnight sun that blotted out the real thing。 Gary's mind was racing as fast as the bike； revising their escape route as each mile slid by。 Once he got there they would pack the truck and head south； then west； keeping the disaster always to their backs。
They would make it。 They would survive。
He swore it。
At three thirty…nine he screeched around the corner that marked the homestretch and skidded to an abrupt halt。 Gary stared out over the vista； momentarily paralyzed by the sight。
The sides of the road had been grotesquely transfigured； its familiar contours turned unwilling host to the writhing knotted vines that oozed from the woods like some turbo killer kudzu； overrunning trees and telephone lines。 Cars。 Homes。 Lives。
Everything but the road； he realized。
The macadam lay untouched； a smooth gray ribbon winding through a sea of writhing growth。 It was as if it wanted the roads open； as if 。。。
。。。 as if it needed them。
Gary pulled off his helmet and stared in awe。
He thought of the tape； of the figure in the track： the truck full of barrels； the barrels full of poison rumbling down the roads； heading God knows where 。。。
Heading everywhere。
His neighbors' homes lay before him： nightmare structures rendered lumpen and indistinct as the vines choked them off； burying them； smothering whatever lay trapped inside。 His neighbors lay； similarly lumpen and indistinct； beneath the twisting clumps of gray…green growth。
Deep inside him； the deathvoice sang。
LATE TOO LATE TOO LATE 。。。
〃NO！〃 he screamed； frantically searching for his home in the mutant topography。 He looked to where it ought to have been。
And saw the magick circle。
It was a ring of thorns rising high into the viscid swirling fog； a treacherous barrier disappearing into the cloud cover a hundred feet up。 He could see the growth undulating； weaving itself in geodesic desecration； ten thousand barbed biting tendrils storming some arcane blueprint of protection。 The vines were hardening； taking on the appearance of armor。 There were easily a hundred thousand bristling； glistening spikes pointing menacingly out and inward。
New vines on the edge of the circle coiled themselves； ready to strike； then leapt； stretching to maximum extension like bungi jumpers； hooking onto the frame and pulling themselves up； feelers blindly reaching for the heavens。
Their house was inside the ring； intact but barely visible； sealed away like a ghost ship in a glass bottle 。。。
〃GWEN！〃 Gary cried at the top of his lungs。 〃GWEN！！〃
His voice echoed out across the thorned plain； came back unanswered。 He looked to the house； letting the tears fall where they may； afraid to touch them。
And that was when he saw it。
There was a spot at the bottom edge of the circle that was still raw： not immediately visible； but there； like a secret entrance。 It shimmered and refracted like a transparency laid over a real space； an Industrial Light and Magic…style hallucination。
〃What the fuck？〃 Gary blinked； it was still there。 New vines reached across from either side； their barbed green fingers still soft。 Micki's spirit door； left open for him。
The driveway before him slithered with undergrowth； as inviting as a bed of broken glass。 Gary hesitated； racing the engine anxiously。
Then he heard the women scream。
The voices were both inchoate and distinct； two familiar cadences overlapping in terror and pain。 It was Gwen and Micki； of this he was sure。 The woman he loved and 。。。
Any animosity he'd ever felt toward Micki went flying out the window in that moment； as he tasted the timbre of fear in those cries。
The women screamed again。 The vines writhed in response； as if feeding on the sound。 One voice screamed back his name； the other simply screamed。
〃GWEN！〃 Gary bellowed。 〃MICKI！〃
The spirit door pulsed and glowed。 He knew what he had to do。 He revved the motor； feeling the tears e and letting them。
Then he popped the clutch。
And opened it up。
The Harley leapt to the task； racing toward the shining door just as fast as he'd let it。 The bike roared； chewing up the vines even as the barbed strands chewed up the tires。 He would not stop。 He could see them moving； feel thorned tips reaching for him。 They nicked his boots and grabbed at his machine。 The softtail's wheels spun and slid； throwing shredded rubber and slick crimson spray。
But he would not stop。
Gary closed the distance。 The vine wall loomed menacingly。
〃Please；〃 he whispered to no one in particular。
He hit the outside perimeter at just under fifty miles an hour and together they mulched a path through the undergrowth。 Ten feet from the wall was a low vine as thick as a fallen tree； Gary popped a wheelie as he reached it； threw his whole body into it； and sprang！ The bike tore through the spirit door like a buzz saw through a bonsai tree。
And Gary was flying。
There was a moment of intense exhilaration as he breached the circle； a joyous fuck you all I made it！ as man and machine hurtled through the wall； thorned streamers of vines trailing behind。
Then the spirit door slammed behind him。
And Gary was in。
The earth came back with a piston…crunching resolve； and Gary found himself sailing through some very real space on his way to some very real ground。 A vine as thick as a banister snagged the rear wheel on the way down and dropped the whole shebang out from under him； Gary went head…over…handlebars； off the machine and into space。
He landed on a bed of leaves and stinging grass； came to seconds later with the screams still ringing in his ears。 His skin was a flayed…raw thing； every bone in his body a player in his symphony of pain。 Gary fought to clear his head。
Then he staggered to his feet。
And fought his way toward the door 。。。
Inside the nursery； a garden had grown。
The vines writhed together in a spiraling latticework dance： younger tendrils； twig…thin and deft； interweaving with the stouter ones to form elaborate grids of containment。 If they couldn't get in； then nobody could get out。
In the minutes since Gwen's fir