The Gate 2 Part 1

THE GATE 2.

13 TALES OF ISOLATION AND DESPAIR.

EDITED BY ROBERT J. DUPERRE.

INTRODUCTION.

When I was young, I loved being alone. I would sit in my room for hours, writing stories or drawing comic books, oblivious to the outside world. I cherished those solitary moments, so much so that when my parents punished me I took it as a blessing. There was so much joy to be had in isolation, so many places my young mind could go if there weren't outside influences to distract me.

Then I grew up.

After being married and having a family, I came to realize that my secluded personal time was a fleeting ideal. I longed for it, wis.h.i.+ng, just wis.h.i.+ng, that somehow I'd be left alone for an hour, a day, a week. It wasn't until my subsequent divorce, when I had more lonely nights to wallow in depression than I could have wished for, that I realized how much of a folly my previous desire for solitude had been.

Hence I came to the dual themes of this anthology: isolation and despair. They are states of being seemingly unique to the human condition, and after going through my own dark time experiencing just how miserable life can be when you're cut off from your previous existence, it has fascinated me. Many of the stories I've written over the years have dealt with these very same premises, and it has long been my desire to see how other authors deal with them in their own writings.

With that in mind, I was lucky enough to have twelve fantastic authors contribute to this anthology. I'm extremely proud of everything they've provided me. These are dark tales, some supernatural, some not, some slice-of-life, some true horror. This being a themed collection, I can honestly say that each and every author put their all into what they presented me, and created something great.

David Dalglish, Mercedes M. Yardley, David McAfee, and Daniel Pyle, each of whom had stories in the first book, have returned for more. The new additions are all people whose works I've reviewed or read and thoroughly enjoyed. There are independent authors Dawn McCullough-White, J.L. Bryan, Joel Arnold, Michael Crane, and D.P. Prior. Each of these individuals has created wonderful stories that are among the best I've read. Then there is my old friend Benjamin X. Wretlind, who I first met more than ten years ago when we were both members of the old Writer's BBS and is one of the most creative and inventive authors around. Added to the mix is my pseudo-boss K. Allen Wood, owner and lead editor of Shock Totem Magazine, a publication I can proudly say my reviews appear within. And yes, he's a very talented writer in his own right, one who's been selfless enough to pony up his own cash to give unknown authors a fantastic outlet for their work, which obviously cuts down on the time he has to create his own.

And finally we have Steven Pirie, another old friend from the BBS days who also happens to be, in my personal opinion, the greatest writer of this generation. He's hilarious and poignant, and his two published novels, Digging Up Donald and Burying Brian, are number one and two, respectively, on my list of all-time favorite books. And I mean that. To have him provide a story to this collection brings a huge smile to my face.

One final note: You will notice the subt.i.tle of this collection states there are thirteen stories within, but I have added two bonus stories, tales written by myself that were published last year in different anthologies, because their subject matter fits beautifully with the theme. In other words, you get fifteen stories for the price of thirteen. Aren't we generous?

So turn the page, and get lost in the worlds these wonderful creators have conceived.

THE GATEKEEPER SEES ALL...

"It's so cold."

Johnny Pazarelli, the Gatekeeper, floats through the emptiness of time and s.p.a.ce, particles of his being stretching out, growing larger, more substantial, holding back the warping walls of reality. Images flash through his mind, but he can only watch, not interact. A sinking sensation fills his ethereal stomach. Somewhere back in the real world, his physical body wretches.

"What is wrong?" asks the voice of Albert Mueller, his guide.

"I feel loneliness. I feel sadness."

Albert laughs, and the sound vibrates through the cosmos.

"You are not alone in those emotions," he says. "Not at all. And for some, if they are lucky, there is light at the end of that tunnel...though I would not count on it. Open your eyes, Mr. Pazarelli, and see for yourself."

Johnny does.

PLASTIC.

by J.L. Bryan.

Jeremy stood at the front doors of the Hazelpointe Meadows shopping mall in Hazelpointe, Ohio. The security mesh was down, blocking the row of still-fully-intact sliding gla.s.s doors. This was a good sign. All signs pointed to "yes," as the Magic Eight-ball would say.

Hazelpointe itself had looked like a good prospect to him, a Rust Belt boom town with a dwindling population, small enough to stay off the radar of roving marauders, large enough that people would have fled from it when The Cough hit it big and everyone was desperate to avoid population centers.

Jeremy found the name of the mall amusing, too. Hazelpointe Meadows-a boxy, ugly concrete and gla.s.s sh.e.l.l, in the center of a sea of blacktop, fronted by an archipelago of restaurants like Red Lobster and Hooters facing the six-lane road. There wasn't a meadow in sight. Nor any hazel.

He shrugged the hiking pack off his shoulders and set it on the wide concrete step beside him, on top of yellowed cigarette b.u.t.ts and fossilized blobs of chewing gum. He opened a side pocket and lifted out a soft purple bag st.i.tched with the Crown Royal logo, and then he opened the drawstring. The Magic Eight-ball was inside, cus.h.i.+oned by thick wads of tissue paper.

Jeremy lifted it out.

"What do you think, Eight-ball?" he asked. "Should we camp here tonight?"

He gave it a shake.

Ghostly letters floated up from the dark blue fluid inside: "Reply hazy, try again."

"Feeling cranky today?" Jeremy shook it again. The Magic Eight-ball was his priest, attorney, and grief counselor. In the months he'd been wandering the American h.e.l.lscape alone, Jeremy had felt overwhelmed by all the decisions he faced at every moment, the endless uncertainty. There was no one to help him make any choices. Eight-ball kept him moving, and kept him mostly sane.

"Ask again later," Eight-ball now advised.

"Come on!" Jeremy shook it harder now. "Should we stay here or not?"

"My reply is no," Eight-ball finally answered.

"You're crazy, Eight-ball." Jeremy glanced around. The place looked secure, untouched since the Cough. From the mammoth marquee sign out front, he knew there was a Freddy Fisherman's, a megastore supplying hikers, campers, and hunters as well as fishermen. All the things he needed would be there.

Jeremy carefully returned Eight-ball to the pouch, then opened the main pocket of his backpack and took out a few tools. Within twenty minutes, he'd cut through the security mesh and smashed one of the doors. He stepped inside the mall.

Though it was June, and thick afternoon sun flooded in from the skylights overhead, the cavernous indoor mall felt chilly. That meant a working thermostat and HVAC system...and that meant electricity. With electrical lines falling and unmanned power plants breaking down everywhere, most places no longer had any power. He relished the rare kiss of cold air on his skin.

He strolled through the central corridor. The mall was still decorated for Christmas. Stockings and wreaths hung on the storefronts and the second-story banister overhead. He pa.s.sed Santa's elevated red throne, surrounded by heaps of cotton-puff snow.

He checked the mall directory, then headed for Freddy Fisherman's.

It looked like the mall had been locked down before being abandoned, and that was a good thing. When raiding houses, he usually had to start by dragging the rotten corpses of the former inhabitants out to the back yard, then opening a few windows to wash out the stench of disease and death while he picked through their belongings.

The Cough had taken nearly everyone. Jeremy himself had sat with his mother while the infection consumed her over the course of two weeks. She'd coughed up dark phlegm, and then blood, and finally her frothy, liquified stomach lining. Jeremy's immunity to the Cough must have come from his father, who had died of a heart attack twelve years ago.

At thirty-four, Jeremy had still lived in his childhood bedroom at his mother's house. He'd been an a.s.sistant manager at Game Stop before the Cough wiped out civilization, taking the video-game market along with it.

He'd left his small hometown in California to look for other survivors, but so far he'd only spotted one rough-looking band of raiders, mostly male, and he'd hidden from them. He took cars and trucks as he needed, and lived mostly on canned food, chocolate bars and bottled soda, whatever he could forage.

Jeremy broke into Freddy Fisherman's and found the camping department. He stuffed his backpack full of protein bars and canned juices before moving on to the gear. The store had tents, camping stoves, generators, and even fuel for the generators.

"Look at all this, Eight-ball," Jeremy said. He lifted Eight-ball from his backpack and held it up as if it were a giant eyeball, like the dripping eye shared by the blind witches from Clash of the t.i.tans. "You were wrong, weren't you? When you told me not to stop here?"

He gave Eight-ball a shake.

"Signs point to yes," Eight-ball replied.

"Heck yeah they do," Jeremy said. "You should listen to me more often."

Jeremy filled a shopping cart with generators, lanterns, a couple of stoves, and fuel, then wheeled all of it out to his camper-top truck in the parking lot. By the time he left the mall, he thought the truck would be groaning under the weight of his booty.

After loading his supplies, Jeremy took a break on a bench inside the mall. He was tired, but not yet sleepy. The mall seemed like a safe, well-provisioned place to spend the night-in fact, after the barns and attics he'd slept in lately, it was practically a five-star hotel.

He stood up, stretched, and started exploring. At Radio Shack, he blasted the Rolling Stones over multiple stereos. Then he switched over to Dean Martin, one of his mother's favorites. Later, he could come back and watch a Blu-ray on a plasma screen or three. Plenty of entertainment here.

He reached the Macy's at one end of the mall. The multi-level department store struck him as a kind of vast communal mansion. The bedding department had a number of complete bedroom set-ups, with matching furniture. After that there were rows of living rooms, dining rooms, offices. A large number of people could have eaten at the tables, retired to the sofas, and slept in the beds. Jeremy thought about Goldilocks and the Three Bears.

That night he slept in a California King bed at Macy's.

Over the next few weeks Jeremy kept planning to leave and kept failing to do it. He had every material comfort at hand. He knew he would never make contact with any other people if he stayed coc.o.o.ned inside the mall-but then, there was no guarantee that any people he found out in the world would treat him well. The mall was a safe place to be.

On the last day of his usual routine, Jeremy woke, stretched, and made up his bed. He greeted the mannequins as he pa.s.sed them. He had names for those he saw regularly. The man with the fis.h.i.+ng hat and matching pole was Gramps; the guy with the sungla.s.ses perched on top of his head and the sweater arms draped around his neck was Skipster; the snooty women in tennis outfits were Marla and Ivana.

Jeremy brewed himself some stale coffee at Seattle's Best and read a magazine. Every day he read the final issue of a different newspaper or magazine. Today it was the final issue of Time, and the cover story was, naturally, about The Cough. "Who will cure The Cough?" the headline asked.

"n.o.body," Jeremy said. He read the story anyway, about universities, hospitals, and the CDC working day and night to fight the disease. The tone of the article was cautiously optimistic. The article's writer, and every person interviewed in the article, were now dead. Jeremy was pretty certain of that.

After coffee, he took a walk through the mall. He picked a few stores each day to thoroughly inventory, jotting down their merchandise on a yellow legal pad. Partly, this was so he wouldn't leave without missing something he could use, but mostly it just felt productive and cut the boredom.

As he pa.s.sed the Hot Topic, he slowed his walk and glanced sheepishly at the mannequins in the window. Three women, all dressed in a kind of punk Goth fas.h.i.+on. The one in front had long blond hair and an exceptionally beautiful face, in his opinion, with dark shadowed eyes and dark purple lipstick. She wore a spiked leather dog collar, skimpy mesh s.h.i.+rt, lacy black miniskirt. Jeremy had already memorized her appearance, down to the purple toenails in her spiked black shoes.

"Hi, Melissa," Jeremy said. Was he actually blus.h.i.+ng? "Hi, Kristen, Catelyn," he said to her two friends. The girls didn't respond to him at all, as if he didn't even exist-which was to say, they treated him exactly the way real women always had.

He continued on, all the way to the Sears at the opposite end of the mall from the Macy's. He was looking at the a.s.sortment of power tools when it happened.

The overhead lights blacked out all at once, and the department store fell into darkness. The only illumination was dust-filled sunlight from the row of exterior doors, where metal security mesh sliced the light like prison bars.

Not even the EXIT signs glowed.

Jeremy cursed. This was going to make life less pleasant.

He walked away from the chainsaws, found a shopping cart, and began gathering flashlights and batteries.

Over the next several days-he had long since lost track of time, and didn't know a Friday from a Sunday-Jeremy became gradually convinced that the mannequins watched him from the shadows, maybe even whispered about him behind his back. With the loss of power, it could sometimes be hard to read the mannequins' faces or discern where their eyes were looking. Something weird was definitely happening at the mall.

One night, sitting in his easy chair and reading a paperback by candlelight, he thought he heard laughter. He stood up and searched the Macy's, but he couldn't find anyone. The mannequins watched him with smug, plastic smiles.

A few days after that, he tried carrying on with his morning routine-Gramps told him that the fish were biting well, Skipster was worried about how the extinction of humanity might impact bond futures, Ivana and Marla gossiped about their wild night at the T.G.I. Friday's bar on the mall's first floor.

Strolling through the mall, Jeremy realized he had no excuse to pa.s.s by Hot Topic today. He'd already mentally inventoried everything on that end of the mall.

He walked past it anyway, and said good morning to Kristen, Catelyn, and especially Melissa, who just looked back at him with cool, blank eyes. He didn't hear any of them say good morning back, but then again they never did. He wondered whether they talked about him after he pa.s.sed by each morning.

He walked down the frozen escalator, and then doubled back on the second floor. This meant he had to pa.s.s the Abercrombie & Fitch, and he didn't trust the gang of suspiciously cheerful adolescents hanging out in their window. Jeremy hurried past them and on down to King's Jewelry to continue the inventory.

That night, he had a special question for Eight-ball. He didn't want anyone to overhear, so he took Eight-ball to the art gallery, where n.o.body was around except for a couple of stone lions and a ceramic Dalmatian.

"Eight-ball," Jeremy whispered, "Should I ask Melissa on a date?"

"Concentrate and ask again," Eight-ball answered.

"What's there to concentrate on?" he asked. "She's the hottest girl in the whole mall, and I think I've seen her looking at me a couple of times. I know she never speaks to me. But maybe she's shy? Is that it, Eight-ball? Melissa's just shy like me, isn't she?"

"Very doubtful," Eight-ball replied.

"You're right, of course she isn't," Jeremy said. "She's too pretty for that. Do you think...Eight-ball, do you think she likes me?"

"Don't count on it," Eight-ball said.

"You're right, I shouldn't count on it. I have to win her over. What if I ask her out to T.G.I. Friday's? We could have a couple of drinks, some peanut b.u.t.ter granola bars...Do you think she'll go along with that, Eight-ball?"

"Without a doubt," Eight-ball a.s.sured him.

Jeremy made his move the next day, after dressing in the best clothes he could find-black s.h.i.+rt and black pants, since he knew she liked black, plus some expensive shoes that might impress her. He spritzed on some cologne as he pa.s.sed through the fragrance department.

He was nervous as he stepped inside Hot Topic and approached the three tough-but-s.e.xy girls in the window. None of them greeted him, or acknowledged him in any way, which made him even more nervous.

"Hi, Melissa," he said to the beautiful blond girl. She didn't respond. He wished her two friends would go away, but they didn't show any sign of budging. "Listen...I know this is unexpected...and I'm just a...but...well, anyway, do you want to go on a dinner with me? A date, I mean? Like, tonight?"

Melissa just looked at him. Jeremy thought he heard her two friends snickering behind him, but when he looked they were completely quiet again, their faces blank.

"Are you turning me down?" Jeremy asked. She didn't answer. "So, can I pick you up at eight, then?"

Jeremy thought he saw the shadow of a smile about to form on her lips. Her friends giggled again, and when he turned to face them the two goth girls seemed to be giving him a friendlier look.

His heart skipped. He had a date.

They had drinks in a booth at T.G.I. Friday's. Melissa didn't touch her protein bar, but he'd heard that women often didn't eat on first dates. She didn't have much to say, either, but she watched him attentively while he told her about his life before The Cough and the girl he'd had a crush on in high school (Misty Townsend, who ended up marrying Jason Pilcher, the jerk, and together they'd bought the biggest house in Jeremy's mom's neighborhood).

After dinner, they went for a stroll through the forest of artificial ferns at the food court, and on down to the big central water fountain. Jeremy pushed her in a shopping cart so she didn't have to walk. She seemed to want him to handle most of the conversation, and Jeremy struggled for more things to talk about. Fortunately she never yawned, or said anything about ending their date.

When they reached the Macy's, Jeremy took a chance and invited her in. While she didn't exactly say "yes" or "no," he thought she had a sly, seductive look on her face.

He showed her around the Macy's, and eventually took her to his bed. She didn't resist as he kissed her, laid her down, and slowly undressed her. Then Jeremy took off his clothes and climbed into bed beside her.

"I've never done this before," he whispered.

She didn't seem to mind.