Broken Image

Paul snapped awake, his eye flicking over to the digital calendar, ten years since then, April 31st as the news had called it.

He stretched his neck before slipping into his normal black attire. He never felt the years pass him by, nor did he ever change.

He pulled the blinds from his window as the UV lamps hummed above, the sun barely cresting the horizon.

That light, though, pulled back the veil of darkness.

What was once a lush forest is now a dead, ashen waste.

The buildings all long since started to crumble, windows blown out, their skeletons looming like gravestones. Cars sat rusted and silent, some half-buried in drifts of gray ash, others decaying where desperate drivers abandoned them mid-flight.

Shapes moved in the darkness, scampering away from the light. Beasts born of this nightmare, beasts not meant to see.

The light caught one, its large, powerful form lurching as gray skin blistered instantly, and it howled in agony.

Paul watched as it fell back, others of its kind grabbing it and dragging its eyeless head back into the dark, but its screaming didn’t stop. Instead, it was drowned out by the sounds of its kin ripping into it and the howling call of food.

Paul wondered if any other humans lived amongst these wastes. If another Shifter might still live. If they did, would they be looking too?

He didn’t ponder it long before leaving the top floor of his home. Stepping out onto the landing pad of what was once a hospital.

Ash blew past him as the wind howled through empty corridors. The city was silent.

Paul wondered if he’d ever smell a rainstorm again, that distinct scent of ozone. He never realized how much he took that for granted.

Most people probably didn’t, well, most people didn’t survive the cataclysm.

Who knew so many Shifters in one place would break the fundamentals of it all? Break what we knew into what we didn’t.

Paul mentally reached for a crack in time, as he always had. Felt it, forced his will upon it. Wanting to try once more, the same trick that let him step backward that one time.

He felt time shift, recoil, and slip away.

Sighing as he grabbed a different crack, the world faltered and stopped. Paul toyed with it, letting time move faster, slower, stopping, starting. Then he tried again.

Backward he willed, and time once more slipped free.

Paul sighed; he had given up screaming in rage years prior. He made that choice back then. He thought it was the right path, who knew?

Breathing in air polluted with ash, Paul stood alone in a world that answered only with the howls of the night beasts. No voices, no movement, just the emptiness pressing in from all sides.

He didn’t know what they were, but they hunted, feasted, and lived when night fell.

He called them the Sightless; they were like piranha when blood was drawn, even their own.

They moved as swarms; if you saw one, a few dozen lay in wait.

Paul walked down the stairs, his boot heels clicking off the concrete, the darkness of the hospital filling with the growls of the Sightless.

One leaped, its huge claws outstretched, glassy needle-like teeth bared.

Time slowed, halted, and Paul stepped past the beast, slapping it as he passed.

The others of its kind lurked in the shadows, ready to join its brethren. They didn’t know that Paul was already past when the world started moving.

The first Sightless flew screaming into a concrete pillar, all but exploding on impact. The others of its kind snapped towards it and lunged.

Their teeth, tearing deeply in and pulling back huge chunks of its grey flesh.

Paul kept moving; the first time had surprised him. This time, it wasn’t much more than background noise.

The sound of rending flesh and bones breaking reminded him of that one council member. The shifter who turned into an oversized wolf.

He hadn’t lasted long.

Paul passed through into the reception area, and a mannequin stood behind the desk, proffering a pair of black sunglasses.

Taking them, Paul looked at the mannequin. “Thanks, Oleg. Have a good day, buddy.”

Stepping out onto the ruined street, Paul walked through the hush of a dead city, his heels clicking against concrete. He dodged holes and wrecked vehicles, the silence broken only by the distant, animalistic sounds of the Sightless.

He found the place he visited on Tuesdays.

Mac’s bar and grill

Going into the back of the dark bar, he flipped a switch. Powerful UV lamps hummed to life, filling the darkness with unyielding light.

Screams of tiny sightless roared, and died out as they fled.

Paul looked over the place, an old, broken pool table. A few mannequins stood about, one behind the bar, a few more sitting at tables.

“Heya, Mac, what's on the menu?” Paul asked the unmoving form as he stepped around the bar, collecting a bottle of beer and a bag of chips. “Put it on my tab, buddy”.

Sitting down at a table with a mannequin, a chessboard lay out before them.

“Been a while, Jim,” Paul said to it, before moving a pawn forward. “Yeah, I know it's only been a week”.

Paul blinked. A man sat before him for just a second, old Jim. The man who’d taught him, not only Chess, but how to wield his power. Another blink, and he was gone.

“You gonna make your move?” Paul asked, before reaching over and sliding a pawn towards himself, “Ahh, good play.”

He played with Jim for a few matches, resetting the board as he stood.

“Good to see ya, but I gotta be going,” Paul said as he left a wad of cash on the table. “See you next week. ”

As Paul turned off the lamps, the smell of cheap booze, the cigarette smoke, the jukebox playing, and the hum of the neon signs all hit him. He froze, looking at the scene, ghosts of a long-gone past watching him back.

He hit the switch, and the ghosts were replaced with the empty dark. Something thudded from inside.

“Damn it, James!” Paul yelled, looking at the mannequin in the dark, its arm lying on the floor beside it, “You know you can’t keep cutting yourself. Thought you were past that”.

Paul waited for a moment, listening to the silence. “Good, see you next week. Don’t hurt yourself anymore.”

He moved away from the bar, the shadows of the looming skeletal buildings stretching in the sunlight.

Stopping at an intersection, he spotted a mannequin in a yellow sundress standing in the middle. A straw hat lying at its feet.

“You dropped that,” Paul said, waiting for a moment before approaching. “Long day, eh?” He asked, putting the hat atop the mannequin’s head.

“Well, have a good one,” Paul said, his back already turned to the unmoving form. Then something in his gut dropped, and the world felt wrong for but a moment.

He looked behind him, and the hat was back on the asphalt.

“Deja vu,” He muttered before putting the hat back atop the mannequin.

Walking away a few paces before, he felt something.

The presence of a Shifter.

Where, who. What?

All these years and?

He looked about, surrounded by dead buildings, wreckage, and utter emptiness. He wanted to shout or scream.

Then, as suddenly as it came, the feeling was gone. He froze, wondering if it was real.

Or worse.

Moving forward in the direction he felt was right, towards the sun. Something crumbled in the distance, and more concrete fell from far above.

Things scurried in the shadows, listening, for he knew they couldn’t be watching. Or could they?

“Hello?” Paul asked, but there was no answer, and his gut felt wrong for a moment. Then something crumbled, wait, it had done that…

It had done that once before, he thought as he watched that same block of concrete smash into the ground below for the second time.

Looking about, waiting, seeing the Sightless shift about the shadows. Hearing silence punctuated by the scratching of a Sightless’s claws against concrete walls.

Paul sighed before pushing forward, the sun slowly taking its course across the sky. Much like Paul taking his Tuesday walk.

Though something blocked his path, he went the way he always did. A boulder of concrete, the very same that fell twice.

Slowly worked his way around it. Stepping atop cars and hopping from roof to roof. It made him smile for a moment as he remembered a fight long ago.

Chasing a Hound shifter on a busy freeway.

He shook his head as he stepped off a white van’s hood and back onto the sidewalk. He walked listening, flickers of ghosts walking the street with him.

He found a place he usually visited on Fridays, Tina’s Haven.

The door hanging open, he froze, watching the wooden door swing back and forth, held only by a single bolt. His eyes scanned, searching.

Then he saw it, the lower half near the hinges had been broken off, not shredding claws, just raw momentum.

“Hello?” Paul asked the dark void of the shop.

The click and scrap of claws answered from far above. A sightless, peaking its head out, scanning the street, before touching a ray of sun.

It fell back screaming, and its kin fell upon it.

Paul stepped into the store, his footsteps punctuated by howling cries. He flicked the switch, the UV lights humming to life, and he stared in horror.

Shelves knocked over en masse, books strewn about, model sets of wargaming minis cast about wildly.

His eyes scanned the ruined shop before finding Tina, her head gone, limbs scattered through the shop.

“Tina?” He asked the mannequin waiting for an answer that never came. He started forward, his foot hitting something hard.

He looked down at the worn book cover and, for a moment, the store was as it had been. People arguing over rules, how many inches they could strike from, and Tina bringing out snacks for those in the tournament.

He watched her move, her dirty blond hair, those green eyes, all slowly fading back into memory as the world came back into focus.

He stood there watching, his hand reaching up to remove his glasses, and he wiped away a tear he hadn’t felt form.

That smile of hers lingered as a phantom weight.

“I’m sorry.” He said, walking back out, flicking the lamps off. His shoulders slumped as he walked aimlessly down the road. He didn’t even notice the lamps had turned back on.

Something scurried above, but Paul didn’t even look, didn’t check. He walked on, stopping at an intersection and standing there, looking at the wreckage.

He looked on, trying to remember the blaring horns of the busy streets, the people talking over one another.

Nothing came.

He looked at the destroyed sign and sighed. “Missed my turn.”

Looking behind him, at his usual route, he shook his head before going a different way. He kept walking, not looking at the signs, drifting aimlessly as the sun casually set.

The sounds of thousands of waking Sightless started filling the air, as they waited for the poisonous thing to fade.

Paul sighed as they grew closer.

Then he felt something again. That twinge. That feeling.

Another Shifter.

A Sightless fell from on high, smashing into the pavement several blocks away. Paul blinked, confused, as he watched it float back up to its perch. Then it fell, splattering exactly as it had before.

Paul just walked past the pancake of a Sightless, following instinct forward. Someone was out there.

“Hello!” Paul shouted, and was answered by howling roars. Underneath all of that was a panicked shriek.

Not a Sightless’s shriek.

Paul was moving before he knew what he was doing. Sightless prowling down the walls of the darkening streets.

Yet he heard that shriek again, followed by some of the Sightless seeming to have slid back a moment or two.

He found an alleyway, covered in the grey-green ichor that made up the insides of the Sightless.

“Stay back!” A girl shrieked from further down, and he followed her voice. Letting time slow.

A Sightless lunged at something behind a trash can, but a small form moved impossibly quickly before smashing into the side of a wall.

A young girl fell, as time felt wrong. The world shifted, as if fighting his control over it.

“Down!” Paul yelled, the girl ducking, as the beast lunged over. Paul struck it as he was walking on by as time settled back. A window shattered as the beast was launched through it.

The girl struggled to her feet, then tripped over a bag of trash. Paul shifted, catching her. He watched her, and her eyes darted about.

“Your…” Her voice stopped, her hand finding Paul’s. “You're not one of them”. Her grip held on as if he would vanish. Tears started down her face, and Paul just watched her.

“We can’t stay here,” Paul said, the beasts howling all through the city.

“Where? I… I don’t know where,” she replied, her eyes darting about.

That's when it clicked, she didn’t look at him when they talked. He picked her up, causing her to yelp in surprise.

“We have to go,” Paul said in answer as he grabbed onto time and found he wasn’t the only one. Time started to crawl.

“How… did I?” The girl asked.

“We did,” Paul answered, walking forward.

He looked at the walls of the city, covered in hundreds, if not thousands, of the Sightless. All caught in a still frame. Yet every moment or so, they’d shift forward.

“Calm yourself,” Paul stated, trying to keep time mostly stopped. “Focus on the crack.”

“Crack?” The girl asked, confused, the world suddenly launching forward, the Sightless now airborne, lunging at them. Paul barely wrestling his will into place.

“Yes,” Paul said, “You feel that right? Hold onto it and don’t let go”.

The girl nodded, and time stopped fighting him as much. He started running forward to his home.

He rounded the corner, the hospital’s UV lights lighting the entire block. If time were to start, he knew he’d hear the cries of burning Sightless. He ran through the entrance.

“So you can… You can see it too?” The girl asked, “The tears, how I’m…” She started to explain, time suddenly lurching, the cries of Sightless joining them.

He watched the Sightless descending upon them. Paul felt for a crack. Time hitched and slowed back to a near halt.

“Let's talk about that later,” Paul replied, going up the first set of stairs. “Just focus till we’re safe.”

“I’m Clair,” The girl said, as Paul climbed the last set of stairs. The UV lights washed over them.

“Paul,” Paul replied as he walked into his home.

“It's high up,” Clair said, as Paul set her on the bed that rested in the center of the room, far from any windows.

“Yeah, it is,” Paul replied, as he felt her let go of time, suddenly freezing in place. He let go of it, and the howling screams of the Sightless filled the air, as they were burned and dragged out of the light by their fellows.

He looked at Clair, who had her hands over her ears. He put his hand on her head, and she took it, clenching tightly.

“What are they?” Clair asked, shaking.

“Sightless, where are you from that you don’t know of them?” Paul asked, sitting next to Clair.

“I don’t know,” Clair replied, laying her head against him.

“How can you move time so easily?” She asked after a moment of silence.

“Practice, and a lot of messing up,” Paul replied, before looking out. “And one really big mistake”.

She closed her eyes, something moved wrong, moved backward. Paul grabbed onto time and pushed against her with all his will.

She looked up at him as time ground to a halt.

“What did I do?” She asked, confused.

“Never pull backward,” Paul stated bluntly, “Ever”.

Clair flinched at the way he said it, her grip tightening on his sleeve.

“But why?” she asked. “I just, everything felt like it was there. Like I could…”

“No,” he said, his voice quiet, “You don’t touch that part ever”.

“I didn’t mean to,” Clair said, her eyes searching for his, and Paul pulled her into a hug.

“Forwards. Slowing. Never backward,” he stated, not looking at her.

“What's this?” She asked, holding something up with her free hand. A punched train ticket. Paul’s body froze as he looked at it; his breath hitched. A cruel joke.

The sun moved back into view. Paul reached out, and time slipped through his fingers.

Static filled Paul’s ears. The pain in his chest he couldn’t comprehend.

Then the sound of clicking boot heels against concrete. He was about to board a train. He was the only one at this station, but he could hear others chatting through the open windows.

The Conductor looked Paul over and said, “Haven't seen someone get on from this station in a long time, Ticket?” Paul replied by pulling his ticket out. He froze partway, seeing it wasn’t punched anymore.

“Not a talker, eh?” The conductor asked as he punched the ticket and waved Paul on.

Paul stepped into the passenger carriage, the passengers' voices deafening him, smoke permeating the air.

Then another voice cut through it all, a shrill girl's voice calling “PAUL!”

Paul leaned past a couple to see out the window. A girl stood frantically looking around her.

“Clair,” he said, not knowing the name.

“Don’t do it!” She shouted at the train rolling away from her.

Paul looked up the compartment; his heart ached at her scream. Yet he knew his path was set. He moved through the car, as he had always done.