generators that power the whole place. Cars and motor bikes and batteries and radios. And man, are you gunna find guns. Most of em’ very illegal.'
Guns did not impress Richard and they would do him no good. As his dad had pointed out the night before, he would probably shoot his foot off.
Still, he asked, 'What about the man who owns the house? Will he help?'
'God, you and your questions,' the Old Man’s voice sounded more amused than annoyed. 'Poor bastard had a heart attack two days ago at his office cross town. He won’t be needin’ none of it. No family. Nuttin’ to worry ‘bout. He kept a spare key under the front mat and had a strange notion to go leavin’ the main gate open.'
Stone asked, 'Another link in the chain?'
The Old Man ignored the question.
'Now, as to the second gift. Well you already got that one but you’re too shell-shocked to know it. When you get to the house that’s when you’ll realize that one. I guess I kind of lied when I said you don’t have no friends no more.'
The man chuckled at what must have been an inside joke.
'When you get to the house, go inside. Clean up your self. Grab a bite to eat. You’ll find lotsa coolers runnin’ on the generator stocked with all sorts of good stuff. But pace yourself…its got to last a while.'
'The third gift? What is it…food?'
The Old Man leaned forward. His eyes widened. The flames burned hotter.
'When you got a full belly and feelin’ better, you go on down to the basement of that house. You’ll find a gray door stuck in a corner behind a hot water heater. It’s locked.'
Rich felt something in his clenched fist. He opened his hand and found a silver key. He fidgeted in surprise at the sight of the key. He had never seen it before. He had not felt the key in his grasp until the Old Man spoke of it.
'Open the door and go down there and get your third gift. Oh and Trevor, the first two gifts you’re gunna have to share. The third gift…that’s only for you. Just you.'
A cold breeze reminded Rich he wore wet clothes. His teeth chattered.
The Old Man watched the fire and told Richard Trevor Stone, 'Sooner or later, when you get your head ‘bout you, you’re gunna think that you’ve got all this figured out. Your gunna think you know what’s goin' on. But you don’t. This ain’t some sort of straight up alien invasion like those Ed Wood movies. This ain’t simple at all. There’s a lot more goin’ on around here than you can even imagine. A lot more than you need to know. That’s why there’s rules.
'So don’t bother tryin’ to figure it all out. Go and survive, Trevor Stone. Survive whilst the storm blows through. It’ll calm down after a spell. Then you’ll have to start fightin’. And all the time you have to be ready to sacrifice for the good of the ‘cause. I can’t talk much more than that ‘cause of them rules. But understand, you’re probably thinkin’ that sacrifice means takin’ a bullet for someone or belly floppin’ on a grenade in a foxhole. That ain’t it. Sometimes the hardest sacrifice is living. And that’s what you must do. You must go on living.'
'I don’t understand.'
'Don’t bother tryin’. Now go…get movin’. I can’t protect you. Remember that. And I’m not here like some sort of third lifeline on ‘ Who Wants to be a Millionaire.’ I’ve done for you what I can do. Now you got to get behind that big fence and hope it’s enough to keep you safe for a while. Until you’re ready. Now go.'
He staggered to his feet. His body complained with aches.
'I don’t know if I should thank you.'
'Shit no, you don’t wanna thank me. Before long, you’re gunna hate me. You’re gunna think this a curse. Just always remember, it ain’t about you.'
'Yeah, sure.'
'Good luck, Trevor,' the Old Man smiled a creepy grin. 'You’re gunna need it.'
– Sunlight turned to twilight by the time Richard and his escort emerged from the woods and came upon a large lake. Richard recognized the place as Harveys Lake, the biggest natural lake in all of Pennsylvania.
Permanent homes mixed with seasonal summer cottages around the five-mile circumference of Harveys Lake which, when seen from the air, resembled a 'T' shape. A perimeter road surrounded the lake.
Usually the lake hosted speedboats and water skiers on late June evenings but tonight no sightseers cruised the road, no boats splashed on the waters; the homes and cottages dark. He heard no sounds save the lap of waves.
Richard recognized his new home immediately. The large estate-surrounded by a tall, black iron fence-sat isolated except for two neighbors: a silent A-frame on one side, a small white church fifty yards in the other direction.
They walked the grassy shoulder between the fence and the road until reaching the open main gate.
A driveway climbed a slight grade toward the east-facing main house through a perfectly manicured lawn dotted with ornamental trees. A six-car garage with apartments on top rested in the northern quadrant of the grounds. Other, smaller buildings hid among the trees on the back half of the lot in the shadow of a mountain.
The house hinted at Victorian roots but without an abundance of gothic flavor and lacking the busy, crowded appearance associated with the Queen Anne phase. Indeed, the style was best characterized by a lack thereof.
Nevertheless, the mansion stood two stories and stretched wide and deep dominating the grounds. The structure’s origin dated at least a hundred years, but it stood proud in immaculate condition. No doubt its ancestry lay with the coal barons and railroad tycoons who had made Harveys Lake their retreat in the days when anthracite mining ruled northeastern Pennsylvania.
Thick round pillars lined the big front porch while a second-floor balcony afforded a king's view of the lake yet he saw very little in the way of decorative flair or aesthetic touches.
While he found his new home quite impressive despite the lack of panache, it held his attention for only a brief moment. A more dramatic sight beckoned as he came to understand the second gift.
They emerged from behind trees, around the corner of the garage, even from the bushes lining the sides of the house.
Rich saw several big black and tan Rottweilers; a couple of intimidating Doberman Pinschers, even two Elkhounds nearly matching Tyr and Odin in color.
Still more came: several German Shepherds; a few Golden Retrievers; a couple of bushy Siberian Huskies; a handful of black and white Border Collies and even more he did not recognize.
These were not pretty show animals ready for parade. They were the fierce soldiers and brawny workers and keen hunters that hundreds and, in some cases, thousands of years of genes and breeding and natural selection had sent forth to truly be man’s best friend.
One thought came to Richard's mind.
No, not a thought, a communication.
What will you have us do, Master?
5. Night
'Night, the mother of fear and mystery, was coming upon me.' — H.G. Wells, War of the Worlds.
The next day, Richard sat on the kitchen's hardwood floor leaning against a cabinet, his head cradled on arms crossed over knees. Rays of light from the late-afternoon sun tried to push through the window above the sink but the forest-covered mountain behind the estate allowed only flickers.
He concentrated on the sound of a wall clock tick-tick-ticking away. It told him much.
The ticking clock told him the generators had not kicked on meaning the electricity flowing throw the mansion came from Pennsylvania Power and Light.
Each tick spoke of another moment past; another moment Richard Trevor Stone lived. How many people died in that same moment? How many Ashleys vaporized? How many Bobby Westons crushed? How many fathers and mothers mutilated to the point that a son could mistake them for shaggy, rolled carpets?
